It all started very normal.
The alarm went off at 4:30am, I turned on the coffee, got ready for my last run before the weekend race, and headed out the door to the gym.
Upon opening the door, I knew I was fucked. It was a hot box and I was toast. I jumped on a treadmill and hoped for a strong five mile run. And low and behold, I eeked out the mileage after sweating half my body weight out on the belt.
Arriving at my abode, I turned on the kitchen light to witness a festival of freakish, hybrid alien, flying ants near my back door...and thought, no big deal...I'll spray and all will be well. Until I opened the back door to discover that alien ants had attacked. The south side of our house was coated and I started to get nauseous probably due to the fact that I was dehydrated. I woke up my husband who went on an ant extermination rampage.
Somewhere in the middle of the counter attack, he informed me that he was derailed by a project at work and that he couldn't accompany our middle child on a preschool field trip to the Botanical Gardens. Feeling the guilt that only a Catholic mother knows, I threw on semi-clean, non-sweaty yoga pants, grabbed some cheerios for the baby and headed out the door.
The Botanical Gardens are beautiful, don't get me wrong...but over 100 acres of them and a million secret gardens with a 24 pound baby on the front of me made for another thrilling work out...exacerbated by a dad who would not stop talking to me about shit that I did not care about.
At this point, I was dehydrated, delirious, and despondent. I thought I may fall into the tulips.
Kate invited a friend over for a play date post her field trip which really was lovely. They had an elaborate princess party while I disinfected the house and tried to get the ants out of my head.
Somewhere in the mix, I remembered that the dishwasher broke last night and that I would be doing the breakfast and lunch dishes by hand...which seemed therapeutic at first, and then, wasn't.
I'm tired, apathetic, and ready for the day to end with a bath, some booze, and a prayer that tomorrow I'll have more patience and less piss and vinegar.