Needing cheese for my whine

It was a gorgeous, sunny weekend here and I spent most of it at the beach with my family, but despite that I was in a bad mood all weekend and couldn’t figure out why.  I decided maybe it was because of the disaster that is our fridge, so I cleaned it out.  That didn’t help so I turned my rage on our Tupperware drawer and threw out every lid that looked at me wrong.  Afterwards I still felt pissy, so I labeled toy boxes downstairs.  I shaved my legs.  I made my bed.  I deleted 80 hours of unwatched Olympic recordings from our TV.  All to no avail. 

The next thing to cross my path was my husband, who was immediately sent downstairs to clean out the garage.  He did, but I still found myself wandering around the house like a Real Desperate Housewife looking for a frenemy.

I made a list of about 30 reasons I might be in a bad mood and spent some time yelling at each of the reasons, but still ended up feeling crappy and confused about why I felt crappy.

This is the part of the post where I’m supposed to tell you then I got my period, ha ha, that’s all it was, now let’s all go have some Froyo and talk about how adorable Gabby Douglas is and how hot Michael Phelps is from the neck down.

But no.  I’m actually still in a bad mood.  I am holding the baby I love so much, sitting in the shade on our deck on a brilliant afternoon while my other boys play in the pool, watching the Blue Angels do fly-bys, and I am feeling like I just found out I’m dying.

Which, if you think about it, I am.  You are, too.  We all are.  So there.  Now go enjoy your own bad mood.  And make sure you bring your husbands into it because if nothing else, at least you’ll get a clean garage out of the deal.  You may not die happy but at least you’ll die organized.

 

Postscript: I wrote that yesterday.  This morning I got together with a good friend who asked me to lay it all on her and so I complained and whined about things that spoiled people complain and whine about for an hour and MAN did that feel good.  They say laughter is the best medicine, but forget that.  Whining is MUCH more effective.  At least when the whining is applied to a friend who understands.

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2 thoughts on “Needing cheese for my whine

  1. With one child that I worked my ass off for and love very dearly, I call that feeling post-trauma induced depression. Three children? I have no words.

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