But you might feel bad about it.
Today was one of the crappiest days I had in a while...as far as everything-going-wrong type of days go. I mean, when I think about it, I realize it's not bad. At all. But in the midst of trying to not go bat-shit crazy, it's hard to have perspective.
Let's start at the beginning. Time change. That effer can really screw with you. My facebook friends will already know that I took to the interwebs to voice my frustration, but that was really only the beginning.
I had to leave my house by 7am this morning, earlier, if I wanted to be on time for once. Well, at 6:45, my Charlotte-alarm was squealing and I leaped out of bed in a panic, wondering how much dry shampoo it would take to make my hair look like it had been wet-shampooed. I make a bottle and bring Charlotte to our bed and hope that Marcus can stay in bed with her for a few more minutes while I shower. (I decided I didn't want to waste an entire can of dry shampoo.) After I emerged from the bathroom, Marcus groggily asks me why I have to be to work so early...? Meanwhile it's actually FIVE FIFTY FIVE. AND MY DAUGHTER IS UP FOR (WHAT SHE THINKS) THE DAY. Ho, no. I got lucky and she went back to sleep. Score for me.
I was able to get ready without too much annoyance, save finding a dirty thermos that had a little puddle of old coffee in it when all I needed was a clean thermos...
I load Charlotte up and head to my mom's to drop her off for the day. It's about a 20 minute drive, and then back another 20 minutes to work. Marcus had loaded up an old crappy air compressor in the back of my van since he just sold his Explorer and replaced it with a tiny impractical car. (I suppose that's an entirely different story.) He told me to go easy on my brakes and watch it on the curves because the air compressor may not stay upright. By the time I made it to the edge of our neighborhood, the stupid piece of crap went crashing over, terrifying me and my daughter and leaking oil in my sweet mom-ride.
So I move over to the side of the road and I try to lift it back up. I am wearing a skirt, tights and a dress coat. I'm crawling into the back of my van and surveying the oil spill dressed like a congress woman. (or a flight attendant, or librarian, as I'm often mistaken for. oh, and preschool teacher.) I attempt to lift the big dirty beast and it won't budge. I call Marcus and am very rude. I call my mom to see if she can meet me a little closer to the highway to save some time.
After I made it to the the highway exit, I transferred my kiddo into my mom's car and asked if she could maybe help me. I was able to lift up the compressor and adjust some newspaper to soak up some of the oil, but I can tell it's not going to stay in this position for long. There were some bungees and tow straps "holding it in place" but they may as well have been birthday party streamers as they were draped gracefully throughout the back of my van.
I said my goodbyes to Charlotte and my mom took the diaper bag and asked, "Where is her bottle?"
My spirit crumbled. How could I have forgotten?! My mom offered to pick one up at a near by store, knowing they don't have "her kind", but anything would do, right?!
I left for work, called my boss and said I needed to drop the oil monster to my husband's work because I wasn't going to leave it in my car all day. Within moments, it crashed onto it's side once again, even louder than before. I tried to adjust again after pulling into a gas station, but cannot get it to budge. Really missing the ol' personal trainer right about now. (I just asked Marcus, the compressor weighs 100 lbs. That explains my inability to lift it.)
I was 45 minutes late to work with an oil slick in my car, dirty hands, and a headache. It wasn't long after that my mom notified me that Charlotte refused to take the new bottle and protested loudly about it. It was going to be a long-ass day.
I honestly tried so hard during my 40 extra minutes of driving to be thankful amidst what I felt least thankful for. You know, taking a hint from all of the people doing 30 days of thanks on facebook or their blogs. I felt guilty for not praying the moment that I felt anger creeping in. Anger at Marcus for making me cart around what I felt to be a dangerous greasy time bomb, anger at myself for not being more responsible for setting my alarm properly, for remembering a bottle, and then forgetting a co-workers birthday card even though I just stopped at the store. I felt sorry for myself because on top of that, I felt like a pathetic wife and mother. Seriously, why couldn't I just get it together? I've been working harder at praying before I let things get out of hand. It doesn't always come naturally, and sometimes it doesn't feel like it's working.
I wanted people to coddle me and tell me that yes, my morning did suck, but then tell me how awesome I was and how clean my hair looked. But no one would. I can't rely on other people to make me feel better about myself.
I need to work harder on talking with God during those long car rides instead of fuming and getting more angry. It gets me nowhere.
So, I've determined something to be thankful for throughout my craptastic morning. I'm thankful that these days are (relatively) few and far between, and I'm thankful that even though I felt like I had worked a full day even before arriving at my job, I had a reminder that I need to spend more time in prayer. That in itself is probably worth it...and maybe, just maybe there will be even fewer craptastic days because of it.
side note: Charlotte refused her bottle all day, just as she had my first week back to work. But Marcus was able to pick her up a bit early. And that made me happy.