Out of Sorts
The day started off so well. I got my laundry sorted and the first load in with the crowing of the rooster. Oh, and I found some Schumann piano music available as a free download.
Those were the high points of the day. Hambet has been clingy and whiny all day; he fought his nap furiously and didn’t sleep long. Oh, the whining, the horrible whining today! “Mommee! Mooooooommmmmmeeeeeeee! MAMA! MOOOOOOOMEEEEEEEEEE!” And the climbing, the screaming, the crayon marks on the table, the broken dish, the determination to slip into the closet and pull Daddy’s ties to the floor, the stepping on Mommy’s toes, the fights over the TV when Mommy says no, the flinging of Mommy’s new piano music on the floor and the shredding of the music in the bench….
My refrigerator and freezer both smell funny. I have forgotten my PIN for my ATM card. I have no idea what I’m going to make for supper tonight (I don’t care for corned beef, and the lamb stew I had planned didn’t work out….) Two acquaintances called me today; I feel unfit for any kind of society, even a chat on the telephone — utterly dull-witted, like I’ve been locked away someplace. (Is sheer isolation one of the worst things about being a stay-at-home mom these days?)
We are thinking about having some work done in our kitchen, and the designer is coming tomorrow to take a look and make some preliminary suggestions. I am in a panic because I want to do some cleaning in the kitchen and track down that funny smell, and make some banana bread to feed the guy, but I’m getting nowhere. Plus a friend (an elderly lady whom we met at our old parish) has invited herself over to keep an eye on Hambet while the kitchen guy’s here. Hambet is not going to stand for playing with her while this interesting new person is around, plus I’ll feel like a heel if I don’t ask her to lunch, but I have nothing to feed her and I really don’t feel like going to the store. I know I’m spending way too much energy on figuring out what to feed her for lunch but it’s preying on my mind.
I hate days like this — does St Thomas have some catchy name for them? if he does, I bet some St Blogger can tell us — and it seems they always come when I’m least able to handle them, when I’m already tired and unhappy with myself and am trying to snap out of mentally reviewing the Very Long List of Ways I Messed Up My Life When I Was in my Teens and Early Twenties. Thinking about the ideals of cheerfulness, patience, making a happy Christian home, and all that stuff, becomes an irritation instead of an inspiration. Is it my brain that’s messed up, or my soul? I think, well, maybe I could offer it up, and immediately I start craving chocolate.
And I think, well, stop blogging and get back to plugging away, but I dread doing so, because as soon as I try to resume my work I know the piteous whining will start again….