You know it is going to be a good day when you can't even put on your underwear.
As if feeling like you are 95 when you are supposed to be in your "prime" isn't enough, being greeted (pre-coffee) by a toddler who has apparently been up in the middle of the night watching bootleg copies of melodramatic performances by Barbara Streisand is certain to put you in a fantastic mood. Every parent is ecstatic to play with Thomas the Train as soon as your foot crosses the threshold of the bedroom door. What is even better is having a three year old with a head cold hovering in your personal space bubble while you are icing your stupid back, WHINING and fake crying about playing trains with him before the caffeine has even hit your system. I heart whining. Who doesn't? For example, the fact that the red dog can be in the same space with my husband for a full hour in silence, but chooses to begin dancing around me like an epileptic stripper, making monkey noises (her version of whining) while darting her tongue out like a lizard to touch any inch of skin that is exposed makes me feel special and loved- not irritated at all. Now all I need is for the black dog to jam her body under my hand so that I can discover a crusty patch of hair that smells like road kill, because that is precisely what she rolled in when she went out for her morning potty, barking session and car chase.
I watched the movie "Date Night" over the weekend (Hilarious- rent it) where Tina Fey said that she fantasized about being alone in a room, drinking her Diet Sprite in silence. Although I would choose booze over a soda- that sounds fantastic. Wait... what's that? It's Tuesday? Tuesday? The glorious day of Preschool? (Heavenly angels singing through a back light cloud while a flower blooms in my presence)
I suddenly feel like a million bucks. Weird.