Poison ivy/potty time

I struggle with depression.  Some days are better than others.  Today?  Today was one of those not-so-great days.  My morning began just fine, but then I had a little hiccup.  I was planning to do two experiments with the kiddos today, both of which involve a bottle of Coca Cola.  No problems with the first experiment.  We poured half a bottle of Coca Cola into a pot and proceeded to boil it to see the sugars and color additive left behind afterwards.  The kids were properly horrified (especially since I accidentally burned it).  The problem was that my second experiment involves adding milk to the remaining Coca Cola.  The Coca Cola becomes clear when performed properly.  My husband used the rest of the milk for breakfast this morning.  Even though I mentioned to him the experiment that was coming up at the beginning of the week, he failed to realize that I needed this. 

It wouldn’t have been a big deal, SHOULDN’T have been, if I wasn’t already dipping into a “mood” by then.  If I were a lot younger (and had there been no witnesses, maybe I still would have), I would have dropped to the floor and totally lost my shit.  As I’m not a child anymore, I kept it together and tried to work around it.  We used the remainder of the milk (which was maybe ¼ of a teaspoon) from the bottom of the empty milk jug my husband left on the counter.  I was hoping it wouldn’t take as much as I thought it would, but sadly I am SOL on that account. 

We continued homeschooling, but I found myself just getting angrier and angrier as the day progressed.  I put the kids in their rooms for nap/quiet time and attacked a folding chair that wasn’t even the slightest bit in my way.  I decided to take a shower.  Maybe I would feel better after that.

By now, I was just drained and resentful, albeit clean.  As I was getting dressed, my daughter begins screaming that she has a joke to tell me.  On about the eighteenth time, I open my door to yell at her to quit yelling (because I am ironic like that), and she informs me that she has to pee.  I let her go potty, but she’s taking forever.  I finally decide to just go do something else for a while since I have zero patience at the moment, and I’ll come back to check on her.  I tell her this and head into the living room to scan facebook. 

I remember on my way to the living room that the dog is still outside.  I put him out on the tie out in the yard before I took my shower.  It was a prevention kind of move.  I didn't want to find pillow fluff or anything crazy when I got out (other than my reflection, I mean).  I put on my shoes and head out to unleash him.  I do, and the crazy mutt is running all over.  I walk to the mailbox, grab the mail, tell the dog to pee, and then curse fluently.  Not only did my dog NOT pee when told (just like my daughter), but he decided to instead run through a large patch of poison ivy and then head straight towards me.  I should point out that I already have poison ivy, likely also his fault.  I eventually manage to put him back on the tie out and bring him food since the idiot can't come inside until I am ready to give him a bath.  Which is maybe never.  This day is a jerk.

This guilty face is not about the poison ivy.  He's been digging again.

I head back inside and go to check on my daughter.  She should have been finishing up on the potty this whole time.  I know I’m about to discover something awful, because she has closed the bathroom door.  Opening it, I find her with her panties and skirt around her ankles, standing in the middle of the floor, a suspicious wet spot in the middle of her skirt, and a yellow, dripping baby wipe in her hand.  The potty is empty, naturally, its contents having been scrubbed into the child, her clothes, and the bathroom step stool.  Again, I would have lost it at an earlier stage in my life.  Instead, I strip her, wipe her off, and send her butt naked back to her bedroom for some patience drawing (and cleaning) on my part.  Turns out it is also all over the back of the bathroom door and soaked through the toilet paper roll. 

The phone rings and it is my husband.  He is sweet enough to call after work to see if there’s anything I need him to pick up, but today I can only growl about milk.  He promises to grab some and I hang up. 

I had made the mistake of laying down on the bed while I spoke with my husband.  I call this a mistake, because if I lay down during a “mood” I might not get back up again until it passes.  The kids keep me needing to get up, thankfully/damn it, so I roll over to get out of bed.  Don’t ask me how, but I somehow trip in midair, can’t get my hands or legs under me, and fall flat on my face.  Damn it. 

I’m not sure if there’s a point to this post.  I guess I’m just trying to say that depression is a beast.  When you have it, even stupid little things are about a thousand times worse.  And when I read this post next, I will think that tripping in midair and falling flat on my face is the funniest thing in the world, but right now I just want to cry.

P.S.  My husband forgot the milk.  -_-   I also eventually washed my child properly and got her dressed.  Duh.