I had such a day yesterday, Tracey compared me to enacting The Comedy of Errors and I couldn’t argue with the correlation.
Dreams and tossing about made sure I slept poorly Sunday night.
6am did not care.
I walked the dog, picked blackberries, fried green tomatoes, did a bit of laundry…
Sadie escaped the fence again. We don’t know how or where exactly, but about a dozen times in the last year, she’s escaped. She doesn’t always choose to escape the back yard, but then, we don’t leave her there often, because we don’t know when she might choose to escape. We want her to enjoy her yard and watching her squirrels and sniffing all the things, but we don’t want her dead in the busy road near our house.
Fortunately, she came running back home as soon as I blew the whistle.
Unfortunately, she had a smell.
Like the smell of a dog who’d rolled around in a week-old diaper pail, but maybe with a hint of something necrotic.
After about five minutes of her in the house, I had to lead her out onto the porch, secure her leash to the front door, and spray air freshener all about so I could finish eating my lunch without gagging.
Obviously I had to wash the dog.
Unexpectedly. On a Monday. Because dogs are gross.
I decided to go to the store and pick up a few things.
As I left, my still damp Sadie stood far from the door, giving me the sad face.
I said to The Mister, “She knows, too. Just look at her.”
The Mister asked her, “Is Mama mad at you? Aww, Mama mad at the puppy?!?”
Sadie wagged her tail to him.
“Naughty puppy!” I declared.
She licked her lips and gave me the sad face.
This went on for some time.
She knew I was mad at her.
Off to the store I went.
The local chain grocer uses savings cards. I hate that. When you don’t have a card, they still give you the discounts, even when you curl your lips into a snarl and say, “I don’t have a card and I don’t want a card, thank you,” as if not subjecting yourself to their paperwork is one last bastion against the bureaucracy of marketing.
The cashier said to me, “It will save you a lot of money!”
I thought to myself, no, it will not save me a lot of money. going to a bigger store, where flour costs half as much would save me a lot of money, but she was so bloody sincere and cheerful, I couldn’t bring myself to say it.
I guess they’ve realized they can’t win the I-don’t-have-a-card battle, so the cashier told me to pick a PIN and that would be my card. Super. I saved $1.75. Yay me. Now I can afford to buy five more pounds of flour elsewhere.
Got home, put the flour on the counter, put the yogurt in the fridge, realized my Lysol was in a second bag, left behind at the grocer.
Drove back to the store.
The cashier of cheer reported that she’d already re-stocked it, but I could go get it. Then she told me a great deal of information about how their computer system operates when things like this happen.
Got my Lysol, drove back home.
As is customary, after shifting emotions through twenty impassioned minutes of the girls blathering on about the dramatic happenings of their days, I gave them chores to do.
They were a bit more hyper than usual yesterday, so I repeated directions several times, and The Mister gave them a powerful speech about minding me.
An important blip in the conversation between Sassy and me:
Me: Put a load of jeans in the washer. Cold–
Sassy: Cold water, permanent press, super load, yeah, I got it.
Me: Don’t forget to put soap in and you don’t need fabric softener, so turn the power rinse off.
Sassy: Right, right, right.
Five minutes later, “What happens if a little bit of bleach goes into a load of jeans?”
Obviously the earth stopped spinning when she asked me this question.
can I not just spray the lysol in peace? shigellosis is goin around, ya know!
I freaked out, pulled a load of wet, potentially bleached jeans from the washer, put them in a basket (flashback to last month’s laundry crisis, also caused by Sassy!) and tossed in white linens instead.
The jeans are all unharmed. I assume the guardian angels of laundry intervened. Sassy’s shirt took a hit though, and had to be thrown away.
Later conversational blip between Sassy and me:
“You are not ready for bleach. Have I ever asked you to use bleach, ever in your life?”
“Notice that as I teach you to do laundry, you are learning one step at a time, and we are still on washing jeans. We will master the art of washing jeans before we move on. One load at a time.”
All I wanted to do was disinfect my house, bake yummy things, and make dinner, but nooo, I had to parent. Gah.
Baking makes me happy.
I like eating what I bake, too.
So there you have it. Monday, with folly — but also galettes and pies, because I know how to make a bad day better. It’s all in the crust!