March Madness
March Madness
“Beware the ides of March”…pshaw! Beware of the whole flip-fracken month is more like it.
Why do I curse the month of March?
Losing the college ball brackets is the least of my reasons. Though, after the second round of games I was completely out of the family and work pools. I took some comfort in the fact that my ESPN-watching-Sports Illustrated-studied husband followed close behind and joined me in the losers circle.
In one month, I’ve had to have my blood pressure medication doubled. Yeah, doubled. Have I mentioned before that I’m under 35, I’m at my ideal weight AND… I drag my butt onto an elliptical machine at the gym 6 days a week for a 45 minute workout? Yeah, nice… doubled. The doctor says genetics. I didn’t get the oprera singer genes, the race engine metabolism I-can-eat-50-cannolis-and-not-gain-a-pound genes, or the nice curly hair genes, instead I get high blood pressure and premature gray genes.
The babysitter wrecked my new car. She doesn’t have insurance. I didn’t know she didn’t have insurance because she just let it lapse when she sold her car. This is why she was driving my car. But still she didn’t mention she didn’t have insurance. My new…first ever completely new happy mommy bus Sienna… passenger side… crushed. Kids and sitter were fine. She ran into a pole in a parking lot, backing up. But that’s a whole nother story, for another blog day.
The kids inadvertently knocked out the electricity plug from the chest freezer in the basement… on Friday. I didn’t go into the basement to get anything from the freezer until Monday. Yeah. There is nothing like discovering half a cow defrosted when all you wanted was some frozen snow peas for a stir fry. Suddenly you feel like you are thrown into Iron Chef America stressed suburban mom version. Good times.
Everyone including the dog has been sick this month. We’ve had the real flu, the stomach “flu”, colds, viruses and URIs. The dog has some sort of stomach ailment that produces noxious green foam ectoplasm poop that is impossible to get out of beige carpet. Did I mention the dog is not a small petite thing like a Jack Russell Terrier. No, he’s a 75lb Boxer.
There’s that moment when you want to kill them; you know the moment when you get up at 1 am feeling a bit parched and feel your way down the hall toward the kitchen and then… and then you step into something cold and squishy and you start praying right then that this is just one of those dreams and soon you’ll wake up and tell your significant other what a weird dream you just had. But instead, you flip on the light and feel that unique combination of horror and repulsion as you realize you’re going to be up until 4 am scrubbing carpets and trying to figure out if pulling out the green machine will wake the sleeping children that are currently knocked out from taking cold and cough medicine.
Of course, you aren’t so lucky and the green machine wakes up everyone and you are up to your elbows in green foam ectoplasm dog poo and children hacking up mucus which turns to the inevitable when they see the poo and you are now scrubbing green foam ectoplasm dog poo and vomit. That’s when you try to find your happy place and you start thinking the high blood pressure might not be genetics after all.
“In like a lion out like a lamb”… again… Pshaw! As the month winds down and there is April springing forth hope on the horizon, I’m about to celebrate another birthday. Sigh. I really dislike my birthday. Not really because of the aging thing, though each year that becomes more of a reason. It’s because my birthday is April fools day. If you feel so inclined to send me a whoopee cushion or rubber chicken, I’m all stocked up. But if you’ve found a few of my friends that I’ve driven off lately with my self-indulgent melancholy and virus ridden house, please send them back. I miss them and I promise I’ve had the carpets cleaned and the house fumigated with Lysol and I’ll try to be more myself in April. I’m ready to hand March her coat and beat her out the door with my shepherds crook.
“Beware the ides of March”…pshaw! Beware of the whole flip-fracken month is more like it.
Why do I curse the month of March?
Losing the college ball brackets is the least of my reasons. Though, after the second round of games I was completely out of the family and work pools. I took some comfort in the fact that my ESPN-watching-Sports Illustrated-studied husband followed close behind and joined me in the losers circle.
In one month, I’ve had to have my blood pressure medication doubled. Yeah, doubled. Have I mentioned before that I’m under 35, I’m at my ideal weight AND… I drag my butt onto an elliptical machine at the gym 6 days a week for a 45 minute workout? Yeah, nice… doubled. The doctor says genetics. I didn’t get the oprera singer genes, the race engine metabolism I-can-eat-50-cannolis-and-not-gain-a-pound genes, or the nice curly hair genes, instead I get high blood pressure and premature gray genes.
The babysitter wrecked my new car. She doesn’t have insurance. I didn’t know she didn’t have insurance because she just let it lapse when she sold her car. This is why she was driving my car. But still she didn’t mention she didn’t have insurance. My new…first ever completely new happy mommy bus Sienna… passenger side… crushed. Kids and sitter were fine. She ran into a pole in a parking lot, backing up. But that’s a whole nother story, for another blog day.
The kids inadvertently knocked out the electricity plug from the chest freezer in the basement… on Friday. I didn’t go into the basement to get anything from the freezer until Monday. Yeah. There is nothing like discovering half a cow defrosted when all you wanted was some frozen snow peas for a stir fry. Suddenly you feel like you are thrown into Iron Chef America stressed suburban mom version. Good times.
Everyone including the dog has been sick this month. We’ve had the real flu, the stomach “flu”, colds, viruses and URIs. The dog has some sort of stomach ailment that produces noxious green foam ectoplasm poop that is impossible to get out of beige carpet. Did I mention the dog is not a small petite thing like a Jack Russell Terrier. No, he’s a 75lb Boxer.
There’s that moment when you want to kill them; you know the moment when you get up at 1 am feeling a bit parched and feel your way down the hall toward the kitchen and then… and then you step into something cold and squishy and you start praying right then that this is just one of those dreams and soon you’ll wake up and tell your significant other what a weird dream you just had. But instead, you flip on the light and feel that unique combination of horror and repulsion as you realize you’re going to be up until 4 am scrubbing carpets and trying to figure out if pulling out the green machine will wake the sleeping children that are currently knocked out from taking cold and cough medicine.
Of course, you aren’t so lucky and the green machine wakes up everyone and you are up to your elbows in green foam ectoplasm dog poo and children hacking up mucus which turns to the inevitable when they see the poo and you are now scrubbing green foam ectoplasm dog poo and vomit. That’s when you try to find your happy place and you start thinking the high blood pressure might not be genetics after all.
“In like a lion out like a lamb”… again… Pshaw! As the month winds down and there is April springing forth hope on the horizon, I’m about to celebrate another birthday. Sigh. I really dislike my birthday. Not really because of the aging thing, though each year that becomes more of a reason. It’s because my birthday is April fools day. If you feel so inclined to send me a whoopee cushion or rubber chicken, I’m all stocked up. But if you’ve found a few of my friends that I’ve driven off lately with my self-indulgent melancholy and virus ridden house, please send them back. I miss them and I promise I’ve had the carpets cleaned and the house fumigated with Lysol and I’ll try to be more myself in April. I’m ready to hand March her coat and beat her out the door with my shepherds crook.
posted by KK at 3/29/2006 07:21:00 PM
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