Kickin' & Screamin'

To my great following…all of my eleven readers, please understand that I have put a great deal of thought into this, and therefore have decided that today’s blog will be a complete session of bitching and moaning.  If you are feeling all giddy and happy and in one of those “on top of the world” moods, you may want to skip this for now….come back and read it on a bad day, like when you run over your own toe with a grocery cart or realize you’ve had toilet paper stuck to your foot for six hours.  You might appreciate it more then.

We’ve all heard the old proverb, “when it rains, it pours”….meaning that misfortunes or difficult situations tend to follow each other in rapid succession.  These can be horribly serious events, or simply stupid, ridiculous events.  Either way, they no doubt pile up like a mountain of smelly gym shoes.

I feel like one of the hardest part about these moments in our lives is not being about to just shout out to the world, “I’m having a really bad week!  I just want everyone to know!”  We fear this because we know that so many others are having a much worse day…we would feel guilty if we complained about our own difficulties….but yet, making a huge announcement would no doubt help.  I personally think we should all have a “bad day shirt”–and when we wear that shirt, people who see us should be obligated to say encouraging things to us…like “you can do it!” or “sorry your day is bad…do you need a hug?”  Or perhaps their obligation should be a compliment.  “Your hair is amazing today” or “you know, I swear, I’ve never seen you look so refreshed.”  Or, in my current situation, perhaps a nice sentiment like “you are really rocking that poison ivy on your forehead.  It makes you look 10 years younger!” would be befitting.

There are those times, however, when we don’t want a single word spoken to us.  I suppose in these situations we could add a bad day hat.   The shirt and hat combo indicates that people should not only leave us alone, but that they should try at all costs to stay a good 25 feet away from us at all times.  If you see someone in Kroger with their bad day shirt AND hat on, you don’t even go down the same aisle as them.  You skip that aisle.  You can go back and get your cereal after the person has moved on.  Give them their space.

Now I know that some people just complain about everything, always thinking every day is a bad day, and they would need like six shirts….to cut down on having to do laundry every night.  Those people don’t count.  As a matter of fact, there should probably be a rule about how often we can whip out our shirts and hats.  It would keep those people from taking advantage.

I chose this blog topic at approximately 3:27 am, when I woke up itching so bad I was convinced that someone had broken in to our home and placed a large amount of fire ants into our bed.  After going into the light of the bathroom, I saw that I had a horrible, bubbly looking rash on both arms, several fingers, my neck and forehead.  And as I’ve been writing this blog, I do believe it’s spread to my chest and upper thigh.   After waking my husband, convincing him that my death was approaching soon, he observes my hideous skin, and I SWEAR I saw him grin a little as he opened his drawer and pulled out a bar of funky smelling soap.  Burt’s Bees Poison Ivy soap.  “Do you not KNOW your own wife, man?  I don’t get poison ivy!  I have NEVER had poison ivy!  I can roll in it naked (which is an entirely different blog in itself) and it doesn’t affect me at all!”  He crassly (how DARE he) informs me, “well, you have it now.  Your streak is over.”

I can’t help but wonder if he is somehow secretly enjoying my suffering.  He’s been allergic all his life….I’ve witnessed him breaking out within hours of just being near poison ivy…maybe I bragged a little too much about how I’ve never, ever had it?  Karma?  Well, I don’t know but this is AWFUL.  My sympathies to all of you people who get it.  I’m sorry I bragged.  I’m sorry I didn’t feel bad for you.  And to my husband, I’m sorry I always told you that you smelled like burnt bread when you washed in your special soap.  I’m rockin’ that burnt bread this morning, dude.  Rockin’ it.

Earlier this week, I took my daughter shopping.  I refuse to call it “back to school” shopping, because I’m still in denial….even though I will actually be back to school in less than 48 hours.  We were cruising through a parking lot when an 80 year old man hit the gas and backed out of his parking space right into the passenger side of my car.  I got out of my car, walked around to survey the horrific damage to both doors, and was greeted by a grouchy man who should have probably been wearing his bad day shirt.  Oxygen tank in tow, he walked over to me  and informed me that “there ain’t no way I can look back and see if anybody is a comin’…..I just back out when I’m ready.  You shoulda seen me backin’ outta my spot.”   If Old Navy sold “bad day shirts” I would have walked in there right then and bought me a new one.  I would have bought one for him too.  Bless his heart.

I am very thankful for the ability to laugh at a huge amount of my bad day moments.  No, I’m not laughing one bit at this poison ivy, for the record, but there are so many times in life when laughing seems like the only option.  Recently, I accompanied my Mom to take two of her dogs to get their nails trimmed.  Nothing scary, no shots…just a simple nail trim.  However, simple as it was, one of her doggies apparently found the whole event to be tragic enough to cause a horrific bowel movement.  This bowel movement must have started during the nail trim, and continued on until the vet tech brought him back out to us in the waiting area.  We noticed right away that she had a distressed look on her face.  It was like she smelled something really bad but wasn’t sure where it was coming from.  “OK, here’s Dusty. He’s a….well, a sweet little thing” she commented as she handed me the leash still looking puzzled.  As we waited for Mom’s second dog to return, I noticed the smell.  My Mommy instincts kicked in.  All you Mommies know that moment you think your child has a bad diaper…and you instinctively reach down there to feel of it…to see if it feels full.  You know what I’m talking about.  Well, I don’t know why, but without even thinking, I reached back and touched Dusty’s  rear end.  The amount of dog poop that smeared on my hand was absolutely unbelievable.  How a 18 pound dog could do something like that–so immense, while sitting on a bench in the vet’s office, is beyond me.  And it was all over my hand.  I grabbed Dusty and ran to the bathroom where we spent the next 20 minutes trying to get us both cleaned up.  People were rattling the door knob, wondering why someone was in there for so long.  At one point, someone asked “is everything okay in there?”

We excited the bathroom to find my mother laughing so hard that her face was covered in tears and no less red than a ripe tomato.  She was gasping for air with one hand on her chest.  Knowing her heart problems, I was truly concerned.  I heard someone whisper to her “I am so sorry”–as they apparently thought that she was crying in distress.  We excited the building huddled up together laughing so hard that we both had terrible headaches….. Dusty, completely soaking wet from the waist down.

Unfortunately, true distress has hit my family in the gut this summer, as another of my mom’s dogs crossed the rainbow bridge into heaven (not Dusty…he’s still leaving a trail), and my beloved cat has, as of today, been missing for two weeks.  Lots of tears have been shed over our short eight week summer vacation….but I’m thankful for the laughs.

I’m sure as the school year begins, there will be many days that I want to wear my bad day shirt.  Maybe even the shirt and hat combo.  But we continue to live on, one day at a time, one step at a time.

It’s time for itching cream…for now I must go. Onward and upward, my friends.

“At midnight, even the bad day must come to an end.”  ~Ms. Moem