Anger Management

It's been one of those (extended) weeks where I somehow managed to land myself on the bottom of Karma's boot.  I don't think I did anything bottom-of-the-boot worthy... I suspect that I might have just been standing too close when Karma was katamari'ing up it's SOBs for the week.  I don't know if you've ever been in the middle of a katamari, but it's pretty rowdy;  I can't quite seem to catch anyone's attention to point out the possible error.

It all started on Friday when the dryer broke.  It had been running for 4 hours before either of us realized that it had A.) not stopped or buzzed and B.) generated any heat of any kind.  Funny, MOST seasons in Texas this would not be a problem.  Heat is something we have in spades.  But it's actually cool to pleasant outside--great for us, not so great for drying clothes.  This was all especially frustrating as the warranty on our dryer had expired just the week before.  I even managed to REMEMBER that it was about to expire and schedule MAINTENANCE for the thing because I suspected it might not be preforming on all cylinders.  The repair guy kept snickering about how I needed to extend the warranty and barely looked at anything.

So as you can imagine, I was super happy with the entire situation.  I called Sears to discuss the situation with a supervisor, and on my third call I realized something:  If you ask to speak to a supervisor, you are on a one way trip to The Abyss of Horrible Hold Music.  And NO ONE ever comes back from The Abyss.  No one.  At one point, I had three phones on hold, the longest of which was an hour and a half.  So, I gave up.  I shot off a rage tweet about the situation, said a lot of things that Baby shouldn't have heard, and decided to reclaim my weekend.

An hour later I received a phone call from the Sears Executive Office.  They are trying to help me get everything taken care of, so there's that, but while I wait to find out what's going on... I'm having to run my dryer for hours at a time to dry the massive amounts of laundry and this baby is constantly generating.

Having that out of the way, I tried to focus on something else that needed to be taken care of.  So, I called Sprint to see if they had the replacement battery for my phone that had been ordered 2 weeks ago, lost, and the reordered.  No one could find it AGAIN.  Then they realized that they were holding the phone under my mom's name, and explained that no one could get a hold of her.  Really, guys?  Thanks for reminding me for the 20th time that my mom is gone.  I've only asked you a dozen times to change the name to my name, but still you send me packages addressed to her and hold my battery while you try to contact her.  This isn't painful at all.  High five, Sprint.  Another rage tweet.  Back to the weekend.

This morning I woke up to find that someone had replaced my adoraBaby with a rageBaby.  Those top two teeth are taking FOR-EVER to come through, but they seem to have made a little progress last night.  Instead of hints of teeth, she is now sporting a baby vampire grill.  It looks painful.  I'm sure it is painful.  And she's angry about it.  But it's not her normal angry cry, it's a new, shrill, all-my-energy-is-being-channeled-into-this-rage scream.  After a few hours, I felt like the victim of verbal abuse.  I decided that we needed to get out of the house.  I loaded us both up, and we headed out to look a birthday party inspiration.

But you're smart, right?  So you know that something interesting is about to happen... and it did.  Not 10 minutes away from the house, I pulled into the parking lot, unbuckled baby, and muttered those infamous words:

Why are my hands wet?
Why are my hands wet?
Why are my hands wet?

She screamed for 10 minutes while I tried my best to quickly remove her from her soiled clothing.  There was poo on everything.  And I wasn't even sure I had put an extra outfit in the diaper back since the LAST time this happened.  Luckily, I found a onesie in the bottom of the bag.  So, we left the bathroom with her face red and swollen from screaming the entire 10 minutes, dressed in a smallish purple onsesie and giraffe socks.  No worries, you guys, it's only 50 something degrees out.  Just add another point in my Mom of the Year Column.

At that point, no amount of anything was going to save that trip.  We looked around, but I couldn't stand the looks and my own mom guilt.  We came back home and I surrendered to the day.  Laying on the floor, Baby practiced her walking back and forth between me and her Leap Frog table.  She would turn the music on, then run back over to me while squealing, and then repeat.  It's a good thing these babies are so damned cute.

If anyone needs me, I'll be watching trash TV and shopping ONLINE.