Grumpy Pants: "Darn Doorbell!" Edition

I don't want you to think my life is sunshine and roses and that I only post the happies. I invite you into my irritated psyche of today. Because, boy, I tell ya, today was IRKSOME. 

My daughter had a positive home strep test, and my request for amoxicillin to be called into the pharmacy was denied (understandably, but it would have made things easier).  

My PICC line dressing change took too long, so I walked home from the hospital while my husband took our kids to the doctor. It's all uphill and kind of wore me out, but the temperature was nice. It's not a great distance. 

I felt bad my husband's morning was spent on us. He ran to pick up the prescription. Then he worked from home for awhile and made everyone lunch. 

Guilt trip! (Self-induced)

Then I felt somnolent--just desperately sleepy. My husband said he'd listen for the homecare guy to deliver my IV supplies. I can hardly ever nap, so this was surprising and, I felt, necessary. 

Less than fifteen minutes after I fell into a deep sleep (maybe five or ten minutes), our doorbell rang. It sounds like a cow mooing (we have about sixty different doorbell chimes to choose from). I called out. No answer. My children didn't know who it was by looking out the window, and they're not allowed to answer the door unless it's certain people. I got up, knowing my nap was ruined for good. No one was at the door, but a car was in the driveway. It was a colleague of my husband's, and they visited outside. 

I was on pins and needles anticipating the IV guy, feeling bad my husband was staying home. The delivery guy came an hour and a half later than usual. My husband was hoping to go into the office, but he had to wait. I told him to go, but he wouldn't. 

Guilt trip!

We had a miscommunication. He left with our son to go to work, and I unknowingly had been tending my silent daughter for two hours when someone knocked on the door. I called out from bed again, expecting my husband was home. My daughter didn't see anyone. I pried myself out of bed again. NO ONE WAS THERE. I was upset and tired, and huffed back to bed. 

I called my husband, not knowing he was gone with our son. GAAAH! Alarms were going off in my head. 

While on the phone, the doorbell mooed again. I went, expecting to see no one for the third time today. I visibly jumped when I saw someone I'd never met. He said my dog's foot was caught in a wire. So now I had an urgent situation in addition to being wrenched out of bed and discovering I had been a neglectful parent for two hours. BAH. 

I stomped my Sambas on and headed through our baby grass (a barefoot, streppy little girl following behind me) to find our dog freed by the neighbors (thank you neighbors). I released our dog from the line, and she didn't obey and follow me. Finally after a few minutes of calling across the field (she is part husky and loves to run fast), she thundered across the field like a racehorse and overshot the back door, showing off her powerful stride and rippling hair (she's also part golden retriever). I called her name with final indignation, and she ran into the back door and straight through to the garage. I called her a dumb dog in my frustration, but she wagged her tail after her brief look of guilt had passed. She's actually brilliant, and we love her. And her foot is fine, as demonstrated by her rebellion and thunderous running. 

I plopped onto the bed again, with my daughter this time. Her earlier silence was a result of her nesting herself in the front room with Netflix playing on our shoddy little Nook device. On my bed, she requested "The Cosby Show." We watched for about ten minutes when the fatal MOOING started again. 

CURSE YOU, YOU BEASTLY, DOORBELL COW!!! YOU AUTHOR OF TODAY'S ANXIETY AND MISERY! YOU SHOULD BE MADE INTO STEAK!!

*huff*

I growled and schlepped all the way to the door. It was my mom and sister grinning behind it, so I was authentic in my frustration. NGAAA!! I collapsed on our pink couch, realizing the Huxtables were spinning on pause in the DVD player and feeling kind of bad for them. I sat slouched in a very unladylike manner and silently watched my mom and sister haul bins out of my basement...probably with a frown on my face. 

But the moment passed. My husband came in the door. He was cherubic, yet I sort of growled at him, and he reacted defensively. It's the closest we've come to being downright rude to each other. 

Guilt trip!

I realized I was MAD AT THE WORLD!

So as soon as I could, I went in time out. 

It was time to infuse my IV. This week's antibiotic takes two hours and makes me nauseous. A full tummy helps, so I'm now eating Paleo pot pie and writing out my frustrations so I don't take them out on anyone. 

The guilt trips came from feeling like I'm expending my husband's resources and time when he's so stretched anyway. He's trying so hard. And I got upset. With myself the most. 

And that dang doorbell. 

That bovine doorbell is my nemesis. 

You dang cow. You're fired. You're not funny anymore. 

Eat more beef!