Failures

Does anyone else notice that their day sometimes passes by in a blur of failures?

Not necessarily huge failures; one massive failure hardly ruins an entire day.

No ma'am.

Ruining an entire day takes some serious talent; a talent evidently I possess in spades. I forgot to do something, I said the wrong thing; I spend too much time in Christmas Tree Shop in the Total Crap aisle - let's face it, it's hard to tell there which aisle that is - I stick my foot so far into my mouth I'm choking on my knees. Neither of us slept well, but I'm the one who fell asleep watching the news while the kids were swimming, so he had to be the parent that stayed up. (for the record: nap was delish)

I started helping with dinner; only I forgot, because I was writing, to restart the carrots, that'd been put on hold because he had to run and get milk for the Hamburger Helper we served, with Pigs in a Blanket, and my famous carrots. Ahem. The ones I forgot to finish cooking. Meant I'm not helping set the table, get the kids dished up, drinks - argh. Skipping the medal I won't be receiving for serving the Dinner of Champions.

I forget to tell J that Fox is showering at my house tomorrow before church; when originally I'd said he was bathing tonight; so he ran the tub anyway, when I went home to shave my legs, only to return, and have him say that "probably would have been a great idea if I told him I excused Fox from bathing tonight" - yep. Sure would. I'm impatient with the kids - yes, that's true: I prefer, GREATLY PREFER, children who listen the first time to me. That Mother of the Year award?

Nope. Not me.

I'm the one who fed the dog an entire ear of corn - FINE! YES! I should have realized she'd eat the fucking cob too - but I didn't stop to think about it. She threw it up one the rug. Every child had to tell me the dog threw up, where she threw it up, why she threw it up - all the while, I'm cringing, as it's in J's house, trying to grow smaller, smaller, smaller - only, you know, tall enough to reach paper towels to clean up the throw up on rug. The one I had three maps to, in case I didn't know. It. Was. On. The. Rug. The. Throw. Up. From. Pucker.

Perfectly good corn. On the cob. Sweet yellow and white kernels, lined up with military precision. It's not like I buttered it for her or anything. I'm not that bad. But I looked at it as food going to waste - I simply cannot do that. Instead, I need save it, knowing it will rot, in the hospice I call a fridge because then? THEN? At least someone had the opportunity to salvage a meal from the leftovers from my son's meal. I'm not outright limiting someone's ability to forage in my fridge for food. Or J and his kids meals.

Naturally, he totally doesn't get that. Nope. He can completely nonchalantly toss uneaten - TOTLLY UNTOUCHED FOOD - into a garbage can without a moments hesitation, as he knows no one wants it. He'll be gone next week, so who is going to eat it? I don't eat sausage, even when the casing is off it (omgomgomgomg I can't get past that it's a cat's intestine, or some other animals innards filled with the junk meat no one would even grill so they grind it up to stick in some other unusable body part) - even that? I tried to bag it up to save. Threw up the "perhaps you'll want it with eggs tomorrow for breakfast?"

The looks said it all.

My saving things in my fridge on the off chance that Brangelina will pop by on her way to another starving country to grab my leftovers? Highly unlikely.

Keeping food until it turns, so I feel like it's ready to be thrown away? How does that not clash with my germ issues? I'm......okay.....with keeping rotting food next to perfectly fresh, gorgeous fruit? Ummm.............duh. The aging leftovers have their own shelf. No one puts food like that next to anything you're going to eat.

Holy. Shit.

I'm hoarding the Soon To Die Leftovers.

Excellent.

At 9:29pm, I'm officially drawing a close to the hours of the day, marked by failures, big, small, only seen by kids, only seen by J, or only seen by that lady in the Crap Aisle who heard me say something was total crap, but she was holding it....

With my luck?

I'll fail to fall asleep, lying there, eyes like pie plates for hours.

Reliving every single failure of the day.

If I'm still up in an hour? You can find me, gloves on, head in hospice, cleaning out the leftovers I failed to reheat and serve, ones I've allowed to wither, die, and grow mold.

Then?

I'll have failed, with a purpose.