short patience Tale – Approach with caution

Typically before I go to bed at night I reflect upon my day. Hey I know I am not perfect, and it’s definitely no cake-walk being Mom to very busy children while juggling a career. Yet I do try my very best to model my most revered super-hero… Wonder Woman. So at the end of each day, I don’t usually feel too bad about myself.

Not last night though. Before I lay me down to sleep last night I decided I had been an absolute monster all day long. Most def!

Now, I don’t know what exactly my problem is. Could it possibly be that I have been chronically gut sick  going on Day 14 (since 4 weeks post-op) and yet to have a diagnosis. Perhaps. It is certainly no fun not knowing where or when you will next become sick and be afraid to eat. Last time, I was on the Soccer Field during my son’s practice when the “contractions” hit. Yes, that is exactly what my gut feels like. Contractions of the Olestra-induced sort. Or, in the middle of the grocery store….sweating, wondering if I am going to vomit where I stand, bracing myself against the bottles of Gatorade I was anticipating purchasing.

Anyway, while I am admittedly Type A and can certainly work myself into a frenzy when things are amiss, I usually pride myself in the patience department. Not yesterday. It wasn’t even 9AM and I had announced aloud, that I was “already in a bad mood.” Maybe it was the prospect of having to give yet another sample for a C.Diff test because my first results were uh lost somehow. Yes, I am positively thrilled about delivering another brown lunch bag to the Dr’s office. It was funny the first time. I am not laughing anymore.

Sooo, I just got progressively nastier as the day wore on. By the time my son came home I was in RARE form. He immediately came down to see me where I was working and grumpily announced that someone stole his “Skylander” from his cubby at school. Instead of comforting him, I said, “Listen, I told you not to bring those to school, now go upstairs and do your homework!” I almost added “go cry into your pillow”  like Abby Lee from Dance Moms, but stopped myself just in a nick of time. Then he came down a second time telling me he needed a “Tech Guy” and I responded, “Do I look like a Tech Guy? Go call your father!”

When I signed off work I did the mad dash to and from my son’s hip-hop class to soccer practice with him complaining the entire time that he did NOT want to go to soccer practice today. He needed a break. Ya, well I need a break. Deal with it kid. Once we get there, it is chaos. It always is and I am not typically bothered by this. I usually love to kick it by side lines watching the practice chatting with the soccer dads while the ladies lounge in the beach chairs (my beach chair usually only comes out at the beach). Well last night I was sure no guys gal.

I was instantly perturbed by the fact my son who kept trying to practice with his team (as he should) was continually dragged over to another field by some random-smandom I have never seen before. Now mind you BOTH of his coaches are there. So at first I just sit back while my son keeps giving me the concerned look. Finally, I do comment to Random-Smandom this is not his team to which I receive a “we’re mixing it up” response.  His coach finally notices and summons my boy over to the team, Randon-Smandom summons him back saying he wants him on HIS field. I watch the back and forth game for a while.  Then out of nowhere I break up the tug-of-war like a referee announcing we are leaving and he will be practicing on MY field tonite. I can feel all eyes on me as I stalk off.

By this point I realize I am in total bitch mode. I am now thinking, yes, in fact my hormones are fully intact and completely unaffected by surgery. Actually, they probably gave me some extra hormones because I honestly cannot remember the last time I have been such a raging lunatic.

I get home and immediately spot my next victim. There is my darling daughter. On the couch, watching television when she should be, uh, studying for finals. Never mind helping me out or anything around the house. Just study for finals. I don’t say anything but storm back downstairs to do some more work. She follows me. I tell her nicely at first that I am not in a good mood and I am already annoyed she is not doing what she knows she should be doing which is  STUDYING! She ignores this very subtle hint I am giving her and continues lounging. This time, by my desk as I work, then starts flipping through a Victoria Secret catalog asking me which bathing suits I should buy for her. “Beat it!,” I tell her, “I don’t want to talk about bathing suits until I have a day off and I am in a good mood, which may be never.”

Finally, all is wrapped up for the fam, my son is his jammies, and my daughter is hiding upstairs. So I decide to try to get myself something to eat, since it is really only safe for me eat an actual meal at night these days when I am at home (all carbs of course since I can hold on to nothing else, superb for weight loss I know). The phone rings, and it is my mother calling. She asks how I am doing. Of course I rant and rave for a while. She listens quietly as she always does, then I ask her what she has to say but just when I begin to try to hear her…

My son starts racing around playing every ring tone he can find on the new phone his Uncle has just given him for his Birthday. My daughter emerges from her room dishes and plates in hand, crashing them loudly into the kitchen sink. Both dogs decide this is a fine time to whoop it up for a night-time play session. I can’t hear jack-shit. At this point, I start hissing at everyone, pointing and jerking my thumbs indicating for everyone to get out and go upstairs.  Both dogs and kids start whining in protest. I can foresee mutiny at any moment! My mother asks, “What is going on over there?”

I tell her what is “going on” over here is that all heck is breaking loose and I am an absolute maniac tonite.

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