The terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day

Things I have done in the last 24 hours that I am not proud of:

1. Threatened to sell my daughter to the gypsies

2. Answered someone truthfully when they asked "How are you?" (I said, "Horrible, how 'bout you?")

3. Denied my husband both good food and sex - on his birthday, no less

4. Stuffed an entire egg roll into my mouth in a fit of desperation (I'm an emotional eater)

5. Been frightfully rude to the neighbors (I was just being honest, really)

I have no excuse for doing these things other than hormones. Something tells me that most women can control their mood swings better than this. Am I wrong? Are you all hiding your inner banshee? Or am I really the only person who needs to be sedated before her period to avoid killing people for sport?

There are days I don't like myself very much. The fact that I have days when I don't like myself makes me like myself even less.

Premenstrual self-loathing, brought to you today by the letters P, M, and S, and by the number 5. I have yet to meet someone who copes with this in a worse manner than I do. If you're out there, sister - this Advil's for you.

Wicked Tooth Fairy

We all remember the Tooth Fairy from when we were growing up. She was a magical creature who took our teeth away to heaven when they fell out, and left shiny quarters in their place. I had a special pillow with a tiny pocket to put the tooth in, and I looked forward ever so much to losing teeth so that the Tooth Fairy would come and visit me.

Now, more than twenty years later, I've met her Evil Twin - the Wicked Tooth Fairy.

The Wicked Tooth Fairy is the one who brings you the teeth in the first place. She comes when you are just a baby and gives you teeth one at a time. She is the wicked one who arrives one day and turns my sweet bundle of joy into a howling, shrieking, biting, writhing bundle of anger overnight. She is the foul creature who brings fever, fussiness, clinginess, and sleeplessness in her wake. And she's here, in my house, and I can't get rid of her.

The Bear is teething again. At ten months she has four teeth and is working on cutting about six more. Her gums are swollen and puffy and lumpy and white, and these bad boys look like they're ready to come through at any minute. One of them is already through just a bit, and the poor kid is just miserable. Normally, the Bear is the most charming of little animals. For the last few days, she's been alternating bouts of cheerfulness with bouts of inconsolable wailing and finger-biting. Every so often she will fling herself down on the floor and sob, then get back up and keep on going. She's developed what I like to call the "crawl and cry" where she does just that. It's so sad to watch! I've told her stories about all the wonderful foods that await her once she has more teeth, but she says she doesn't think it sounds worth it. Poor kid.

I feel almost as bad for myself as I do for her - my boundless patience and compassion are running low. I wish I could just cut the teeth for her and save her the pain. I'd gladly do it, but I just can't. So instead, I'm off to shoot the Wicked Tooth Fairy with a harpoon and mount her stuffed head on my living room wall. Call me Ishmael.

The doorknobs worked!

My failsafe method of dealing with people who anger me has once again saved me from doing things I don't want to do. Break out the sack full of doorknobs and use them as a... negotiating tool. Works every time!

Suffice it to say, I no longer have to teach summer school. Crisis averted. I rock. ::does Happy Dance::

The righteous anger...

So, remember back a while ago when I said I absolutely refuse to teach summer school this summer because I want to spend time with the Bear? Well, I just got a phone call informing me today that I will be teaching TWO summer school classes. And they start - wait for it... next week!

I have nothing prepared - and I mean NOTHING.

I have no daycare for the Bear. I told our provider that she would be back in the fall - there's no room at the inn for her to go there this summer.

This is an age group of students that I have never taught. No experience whatsoever. Fortunately, due to the, um, relaxed standards in this podunk state, that doesn't matter. What was a 6-12 certificate in Civilization is now a K-12 certificate. That's ok - first graders and freshmen are almost exactly alike (or so I've been told).

I have to start teaching these classes for which I have no material to students with whom I am unqualified to deal in Less Than A Week.

I am going to beat someone about the head and face with a sack full of doorknobs. And then I'm going to set that someone on fire.

The chaos...

Well, my first official day as a stay-at-home-mom (yesterday) went wonderfully. The Bear slept in until 6:15, prompting me to thank my lucky stars. We got up, had breakfast, went for a walk, came home, she had a snack and a nap, I had a shower, we went to the grocery store (where I managed to spend *way* too much money), came home, had lunch, she took a nap, I did laundry and dishes, went to the post office, came home, dinner, bed! We had fun, we laughed, we played... and all that time she was just lulling me into a false sense of security.

I should have known it was too good to be true.

Today (day #2), she awoke at 5:45! In the morning! Wide Awake! So I brought her into bed with us to hang out for a few minutes and wait for the sun to come up. She's rolling between us, poking us alternately and shouting "dada!' when I suddenly get a big whiff of urine, wafted my way on the gentle breeze of the ceiling fan. The guilt in me makes me pick her up to go change her diaper, only to realize that no! It's already full! And it has overflowed onto my bed! Pee on my bed! ::wrinkles nose in disgust::

And then she discovered that if you bang hard enough on the high chair tray, all the Cheerios will land on the carpet, which is exactly where you want them when Mom is vacuuming. Her morning nap was curtailed by a particularly nasty poo, so she only slept for an hour. She ate a coaster (cork - nice and crumbly) and then bit me when I had the audacity to try to fish it out before she swallowed it all. The Nerve!

And it's only noon...

Really, though, we're still having a pretty good time of it. She seems happy, I'm fairly happy, the sheets are washed, the Cheerios vacuumed up, nap #2 is in full swing - it could be worse. It's just going to take me some time to get used to this way of doing things. For example:

How do you get ten bags of groceries and a crawling baby into the house simultaneously? Instinct tells me I shouldn't leave her in the car, but I can't exactly leave her in one spot indoors and expect her to stay there, either. I compromised by taking in the first bag and setting her up with big cans of tomatoes to bang on the floor, and that occupied her long enough for me to unload the car. But still, it was an endeavor that required some finagling.

I can tell I'm going to have to come up with some fun activities soon, lest we both strangle each other from boredom. Hmmm...