I swear, I can't beat it. There's always that one thing that throws off my entire day. Of course, I never realize it until half the day is over but when I look back at the first half of the day, it totally makes sense!
Let's back track to the beginning of my day. I am sleeping soundly on my couch. I've taken to sleeping on my couch lately, not because I hate my husband... I love my husband, but because he sleeps like a tree. An angry tree. If I don't go to bed at the same time he does it is near impossible to be able to crawl into bed after he falls asleep. He will inevitably be in the center of our queen sized bed, diagonally, with all limbs extended in each direction. I won't even mention the pillow of mine (in addition to his two) that he has stolen and the comforter which has been rolled up like a Twinkie sitting next to his pillows for no apparent reason other than to have something to fight with me with in his sleep when I try to remove it to use it.
So, back on the couch, I am woken up at 5am because my cats are tearing ass through my entire house apparently trying to decide which one of them can be more obnoxious. Of course, it's a win-win for them when I discover the wall one of them has used to sharpen his claws on and the camouflaged pile of puke the other one has left in the center of the kitchen floor.
I try my hardest to go back to sleep despite my in home cat warrior dash. I probably manage about another hour. Then I wake up to the sweet sounds of pounding feet running up and down the hallway. My son seems to think that if he opens his bedroom door silently, runs frantically to the end of the hallway and then comes to a dead halt I won't hear him. He then attempts to tip toe across the living room to the toy box where he picks carefully through to find the exact toy he's looking for. He tip toes back to the beginning of the hallway, again runs frantically back to his room and quietly closes the door. This is followed by continual and incredibly loud laughter.
"Andrew!!!" I shout out. I hear the quiet click of the door, the frantic running and the dead halt. Only this time a head peers around the corner of the hallway, "yes Mommy?", he asks. With this I say absolutely nothing and point to the recliner sitting next to the couch I am attempting to sleep on. He knows what this means. It means he'd better sit his noisy butt there and make absolutely no noise from here on out or else sitting will become the ultimate privilege for the day.
Again I attempt to sleep. I tell myself that I could at least get myself another hour. Then I think to myself that I really need to enter a treatment program. A program called 'You really really need this treatment program if you are dumb enough to think sleeping past 6am is a possibility with four children in your home, NO MATTER HOW HARD YOU TRY!'. Then I smirk at myself because a 90 day treatment program really does sound like a wonderful vacation right about now.
This leads to what I like to call "pretend sleeping". This is where I lay on the couch for an additional two hours pretending like I'm sleeping to avoid actually doing anything. I let my husband get up and yell at the children to get dressed and eat breakfast. I do eventually get up; somewhere in the 8 o'clock hour. After all, I have essentially been up since 5am. On this particular day, I'm already annoyed and the potential for me to wash the lazy off has expired. I decide to just get dressed and I'll shower later in the day (if I feel like it).
Walking in my room is an adventure. I think I have more clothes than a Gap Store. They aren't hung up or in drawers either. They are all sitting in a mountainous pile on my floor. Sure, there's a laundry basket at the bottom of it all somewhere, but that's really moot since my clothes have eaten it alive. I start digging for the essentials. I need a bra, a pair of underwear, a pair of jeans and a shirt. While digging, I find a pair of my husband's boxers. I roll my eyes in annoyance, I mean, how dare his one article of clothing be mixed in with my glorious mountain? I lovingly chuck the boxers onto his pillow and keep digging.
I locate everything I need and swap out my night clothes for my new day clothes. I leave the bedroom and start my morning. First stop, the refrigerator. I can't talk to anyone with out my morning liter of Coke. Then, there's the inevitable discussion with my husband about what to eat for breakfast. He wants eggs. I want eggs. Seems painless, right? I make eggs with melted butter. He makes eggs with bacon grease. We both won't budge on how we like our eggs. Not to mention we must always discuss which way burns the pan more, which sized pan is preferable to use and why the hell I crack and mix my eggs in a measuring cup instead of a bowl. I decide... I win. I make eggs, but only for me. He eats a Nutri-Grain bar. You men out there don't know what you're missin'! Nutri-Grain bars are delicious.
By this time I'd say it's about 9:30am. I sit down at my computer, check my Facebook, check my email and turn on the news. I farm for an hour. After all, tending five different farms is hard work. Then I have to open all of my restaurants. Again, lots of work, especially when re-decorating comes into play. Finally, I must do a little Packratting. All morning musts.
When all of that is finished, I finish up my coke and realize that I really have to use the bathroom. I wait another 20 minutes for my youngest son to make poo and stop being scared long enough to wipe his own butt. (Don't ask me what he's scared of, I still haven't figured it out.) Finally... I can sit down and pee. It feels well deserved. (Hopefully this isn't too graphic for everyone.) I take my pants and underwear down and sit. As I start to pee I look down. Something looks amiss with my underwear. I look at the label on it and realize that it is on the wrong side. I look more closely and immediately roll my eyes at my own stupidity. It seems as though I have put my underwear on inside out.
All I can really do at this point is shake my head in shame. There's no recovering. The damage is already done. It's already inside out. I've already been wearing it like this for hours. Not only that, but this particular pair of underwear, a gray and white striped pair, is one in which I hardly ever put on the right way. I begin to think about the events of my day thus far and it all starts to make sense. This pair of underwear was destined to be worn inside out and thus throw my day off its course. It was destined to turn my day upside down.
Stupid theory? Yea, you're probably right. If it had not been inside out I still would have been up at 5 and 6. I would still have pretended to sleep until 8:15. I would have hiked through the laundry mountains and dove into the egg making discussion. What's the point of all of this? Nothing. It's 11:40pm, I'm wide awake, I start a new job tomorrow and my underwear is still on inside out.
**This blog is mostly based on actual events. I have the right to completely and out right deny as much of it as I'd like to at my own discretion. Whether you like it or not.**