This has been a rough winter on me. With insomnia, tantrums, constant rain, horrible work schedules, nap strikes, and viruses, it's been a battle to keep my head above water every day. Though ironically, it's been a very mild winter. It was 78 on Friday! I keep thinking things have to ease up soon, but I think they just keep getting more difficult. Anyway, I love when people talk about their bad days. Not in a woe is me way, but in a dude, listen to this ridiculous day kind of way. Like, grab a bucket of popcorn and let me tell you a story.
So really, grab a bucket of popcorn. Maybe some ice cream too, but only if you're willing to share. I have some feelings to eat.
Monday was a terrible day, to the point that I put on Daniel Tiger so I could sequester myself in the bathroom and cry for an hour. Gracie had a rough day too, so we took turns crying all day. I was so emotionally exhausted by bedtime that I was sure I'd fall asleep the second my head hit the pillow. Instead, it took about 3-4 hours to fall asleep.
Today hasn't been any better. Instead of napping, Gracie spent two full hours banging around in her crib while I laid on the couch trying to ward off a migraine. I finally went upstairs to get her and found that she had ripped all the raindrop decals off the wall that she could reach and pulled a picture frame down and broke the frame. As if that wasn't enough, she had somehow smuggled a purple crayon into her crib and covered the white walls in purple scribbles. I'm not a Prince fan (sue me) and I don't really like or understand the song Purple Rain, but I imagine it has something to do with tears spilled over purple crayon markings.
We've all heard of kids coloring on the walls, but you never think it will happen to you. I'm here to say that none of us is immune.
I panicked and sent the picture to my mom and all my mom friends. All of them recommended a magic eraser. I knew I would've thought of that eventually, but in my state of horror all I could think of was repainting the whole room. Which is totally fine since we're not renting or anything.
But seriously. Check your toddlers for crayons before nap time. They're sneaky little boogers.
I realized we no longer have a magic eraser, so once James got home and I could unlatch the tentacles of my toddler, I ran out the door as fast as I could despite being so tired I felt faint. James told me to grab a magic eraser if I felt so inclined, and to grab myself whatever I wanted for dinner since I messed up the meal plan and accidentally ate the leftover soup for lunch instead of dinner. I pulled into the Target parking lot blasting music, feeling awesome, and then almost ran over a woman who came out of nowhere. Truly almost ran her over. It was horrifying.
I don't share the love of Target of most women my age, but I do enjoy walking around occasionally. I have to say, their decision to put bikinis right at the entrance is the worst decision they could ever make. Reminding me that bikini season is approaching is not the friendly greeting I was looking for. Granted, I don't wear bikinis anymore, but I still felt personally victimized for my winter cookie body.
I strolled through the clothes, and honestly I didn't understand any of them. Is it a shirt? A dress? A blanket scarf? I literally don't know, and it should probably come with instructions. Half the shirts (that I could identify as shirts) were long sleeve with holes on the shoulders. Please, somebody, explain this to me. How is this attractive and how does it make sense? What kind of weather is this appropriate for? All I can think of is Cady Herron destroying Regina George's shirt in Mean Girls.
Someone in the Target design department has bad aim. The other shirts were too long to be a crop tops but too short to be normal shirts, but they would be perfect if I was looking for a shirt to perfectly display my sagging stretch marks.
This is why I don't do fashion.
I walked over to the toddler clothes, because those I could at least understand, though everything was in a glaring neon color so bright I almost grabbed my sunglasses. It was at this time that I noticed the heater in the store must've been cranked to 90. I was drenched in sweat and feeling so queasy and woozy, I wasn't sure if I was going to pass out or throw up first, so I left.
I sat in the car waiting for my core body temperature to come back to normal and scrolled through my phone while I got my bearings. I saw a notification that John Smith (not his name) accepted my friend request on Facebook. Excuse me, what? I unfriended this guy from college years ago, and I would have never friend requested him again. I don't even remember seeing his profile! For the life of me I can't understand how I friend requested him, but I was so mortified I immediately unfriended him. James doesn't understand why I was embarrassed, but it's like scrolling a year back in someone's Instagram feed and accidentally liking a picture. It's proof you've been stalking, except I never actually stalked him. In a desperate attempt to offload some of the embarrassment, I immediately texted a friend about it. Except I texted the wrong person.
Handing me a phone is like handing Gracie a purple crayon. It just makes a giant mess.
Oh, and for the record, I forgot to buy the magic eraser. And dinner. Apparently embarrassment is the one thing that can make me forget hunger.