I fully acknowledge that I have an abnormally short fuse. Couple this with a personality that incites (sometimes artificially creates) anxiety and I assure you that at times I can be a party to be around.
Just ask my husband. Or my kids, or both. There wouldn't be much of a debate.
Yesterday we went to Kissimmee. My father and mother-in-law are house sitting and visiting the area for six weeks. We decided to drive down to spend the day with them.
The process of getting three kids around, dressed and out the door is sometimes excruciatingly arduous and complicated. It doesn't seem like it would be, but it is. Inevitably someone is lolly-gagging around or not paying attention when I announce that "we are leaving in ten minutes."
Because I guarantee you fifteen minutes later a child will still be in his underwear or crying about not being able to find his socks. I GUARANTEE you.
It is even worse when there is luggage involved. I don't know why this is, but sometimes it is enough to put me over the edge. Even the dog runs and hides when he sees we are getting luggage out of the closet.
Thank the LAWD there was no luggage involved yesterday because even with NO luggage, I still had to take a pill. My insides were crawling with anxiety by the time we all piled into the SUV to head south.
I have to give props to the husband because he is more helpful and attentive than 99.7% of the other husbands out there. I'm sure of it.
I once had a co-worker tell me about her daughter who had married a complete douche bag. As this girl gathered the children, diaper bags and gear and loaded them in the car, the DB would routinely sit and wait for her for her IN THE DRIVER'S SEAT.
Now, I believe that God leads us to our spouses for a reason and I am very thankful that God didn't lead me to that particular spouse because I am certain I would have clawed his eyes out. I thank God for Chris every day.
"What can I do to help," Chris asked quickly. It was only 10a.m., but I saw the wheels turning in his brain. He was undoubtedly calculating just how long he was going to be shut up in a confined space with a strung-out, anxiety ridden bitch.
The Xanax had kicked in and I developed a faintly detached feeling along with a laissez faire attitude that would have made it heaps easier to slow the car down and drop kick one of the offending brats out of the car. You know, if push came to shove.
Oh, I am just kidding. Whatever ~ I would have stopped the car completely.
To "save time" and avoid downtown Orlando we decided to try the toll road.
We pulled up to the first toll booth and handed the operator a twenty. He glared at us hostilely and shook his head. Chris and I looked at each other with the WTF looks. I mean, we had pulled up in the "bills and change needed" lane.
We didn't INTEND to be rude about the twenty, but we had to stop at Suntrust because neither one of us had any cash. We would have stopped at a gas station to purchase a pack of gum if we would have known it put the tollbooth operator out and/or ruined his day.
My anxiety level shot up again, because....well, this sort of thing stresses me out. I hate it when someone is obviously annoyed at me and I don't know why.
"The light," the attendant shot at us, pointing to the way we had just come in. "The light. What color was it? Was it green?"
"Um, I don't know," Chris said. "I think so."
We looked in our rear view mirror and there were about five cars lined up behind us by this point.
"I'll take this," he said as he waved the bill. "But I am closed."
"Okay. Thanks," Chris said. He took $18.00 in ones that the operator shoved at him.
"What the hell was that about," I asked.
"I think he thought he had turned his light off," Chris said. We looked in our rear view mirror again and there were no less than ten cars lined up. Obviously, his light was still green.
We discussed how much it must suck to be a toll booth operator. Really. Because think about it: People are forced to stop their car to pay a fee that they are most likely not wild about paying in the first place. I'm sure it brings out regular pissiness in people.
We had a nice lunch and then decided to go to Ikea.
If you ever have any concerns that your child might be a brat , just take a trip to Ikea.
Because I assure you that you will encounter an even brattier child. Your mind will be put at ease about your own offspring and poof!! You'll feel like an instant rock star.
My impression from the trip to Ikea was not of Ikea; however, it was of the Mercedes dealership on the way there. It was hard not to notice this little gem. A girl can dream, and believe me ~ I did. I would look so uber cute in this, no one would even NOTICE the extra fifty pounds. I'm certain of it. I'd be rocking it in my new highlights and sunglasses and people would shout "Elin! Elin!" Because you know...I TOTALLY look just like her.
The anxiety level of the trip home was surprisingly minimal. Aside from filling up the car at a gas station surrounded by no less than ten bail bonds businesses, it was pretty darn uneventful.
We listened to "Maggie's" playlist on my Ipod. "Maggie's" list includes songs like "O Mio Babbino Caro," "Three Little Birds" by Bob Marley, and "Allegro" from Mozart's "Eine kleine Nachtmusik."
I venture to say that the ride home was peaceful, even. Peace is hard to come by in our house, particularly with three children.
We tried to savor the moment as we could and we all sang "don't worry...about a thing" together.