I Stand Corrected

Why do I do this to myself? Why, oh why do I insist on tempting that bitch in a prom dress known as FATE?

In Amy Speak, this means my day was shitty. And most likely it was because I was so prideful as to declare myself capable of juggling naked in a snowstorm. Sorry, I'm all about the metaphors today.

The morning was easy breezy; dropped Ry off at school, grinned from ear to ear when I threw her the deuce and she flashed her hook 'em horns at me. Bomb. Diggedy.

Jax and I got home, and I went to town making some banana bread for Ry's after-school snack while waiting for kiddie models to show up. Shawn called to check in, Jax "answered", and when I went to grab it from him, he rebelled by grabbing the cord of the electric mixer, dumping the butter-eggs-sugar mixture all over himself and the floor. As I rushed to grab him the first of many many models showed up at the door. Of course they did.

So I let them in, pointing to the pile of clothes as I ran Jax up to the bath, trying to have a discussion as I stripped his egg-whites soaked clothing off of him, ripping his diaper off without even thinking, flinging the giant load of crap he'd been smuggling straight into the bathtub. The same bathtub, might I add, that i had intended on using to wash the salmonella or ecoli or vernicious knid or whatever off of his writhing little body. So that was fun.

Finally (finally!) we finish, get the models fitted, when along comes another batch, and before I know it, it's time to pick up Ry.

That goes well, actually, that went really well. Her teacher said she was such a loving child, quite the social butterfly, and the first (and only) one in her class to comfort the kid-that-won't-stop-crying-after-Mommy-leaves. Read: your kid won't stop hugging me, she talks non-stop, and takes some sort of sick interest in kids who cry. No, really. I was proud. I was. Cloud 9, baby.

As we made our way to her first dance class, she was nervous about meeting the other girls in class, to which I over-zealously defied her to be wary, reminding her about all the friends she had made in just 2 days at a new school, yada yada yada. Unfortunately, the girls in the class were not as glowing as my angel, they teased her, she glared, and that was that. I've since been assuring her that all 5 girls were having a bad day all on the same day and they would probably be very nice next week. This is not false-hope I am instilling: they teased her about wearing a black leotard, no tights, no ballet shoes. The girl will be Swan Lake in a Box when I get done with her this weekend. I'm an awful unprepared mother and I should be flogged. But not until I finidh telling you about the rest of my day.

After dance we hightailed it over to the Y so Mommy could unwind with Yoga. Yep. Nothing like unwinding by being forced to bend over and stare at my dead toenail for an hour, as all I had on hand was a Barbie band-aid not big enough to cover my left nipple, let alone my big ole yellowing dead nail bed.

Did I mention I forgot my prozac and am now on my second glass of wine?