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Thursday, May 26, 2011

birds are not recyclable

What a morning. Chaos is constant at our bustling family dwelling. But some days are more confusing than others. Especially when I have made the decision to give myself a perfect storm of a hangover. Why? because damnit, I am a glutton for punishment. While enjoying a beautiful Riesling with my spouse last night I did not eat enough to cushion my indulgence. Thus creating a clouded head that made everyone sound like the teacher from Charlie Brown. Normally I ease into my routine of bottling the baby, making coffee, ignoring my husbands alarm being snoozed (again) and bringing down Dads a.m. medications. It's a smooth ballet I can often do half asleep. Not today. The baby crying came on like an air raid siren and Dad needed someone, anyone, everyone to hurry to the store asap for emergency milk and other stupid items that do not constitute an emergency in my book. Last time I checked there was no such thing as a life or death dairy situation that had ever made the 6 o'clock news.

I am a stumbelina with a headache that I cannot blame on anyone but myself. And I am staring at 7 oz of warm water trying to understand the formula of formula. I am lost in my head cloud and frazzled. Thankfully my super brother glides up the stairs fully clothed and head shaking. He overhead my baffled conversation with Pops about urgent store needs and came to my aid. Which was really nice because I was no way in Hades waking him up at 8 am for that crap. That would be rude. What a saint. I give him a card and send him on his way. Godspeed!!

Somewhere in the madness my hubs silently slips out the door to work and everything seemed calm for a second. Pretty short lived though and before I had two gulps of coffee down the baby was wailing and Adam was back home. On his way in he mentioned seeing a dead bird on the front walkway which apparently Pops needed to investigate because before I knew it all three of us were outside. I surrendered to the logical need for more coffee as Dad proceeds to tell me not to use his debit card to pick up dead birds. It would "goop it up" and I "should just use his drivers license" and he started inside to get it. What the?!? I live in the twilight zone.

I went inside to get some junk mail which is really the best scooper of anything disposable and we all know it. Debit card? Really? Weirdo. I have to laugh at that stuff because it's just the hiccup in communicating with a guy that tunes in and out whenever. It can be really fun when my head isn't splitting in half. And that is why I do not tie one on like I used to. I just watched a show about Moms who day drink ( I will admit that I used to be part of the Day Drinking League of Champions in my twenties. Yes it's a real club). To get through the depression of being a stay at home Mom instead of a career woman, they start out the day with wine instead of a latte on this show. I could never hang with that crowd. Clearly night drinking to relax is even a bit much for my wussie self. I only got through part of the episode because the talk of Merlot was making me thirsty.

Crazy how everything happens in a short span of moments and when the dust clears not a soul is around and all is quiet. Because now, the baby is out cold after throwing a huge tantrum and being fed another 4 oz ( I don't know how the heck he eats so much but he swears he is going to starve to death) Dad is napping downstairs and Adam is done running around ASAP for lactose.

And I just put the dead bird in the recycling on accident. Damnit. I am not getting in there to correct it. R.I.P. I need more coffee.

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