The Little Things

Yesterday was a bad day. See previous post. Today seemed worse... and not because something happened that was worse than one of my babies leaving me.

What happened? I wouldn't say it was just one thing. The kids were fine today, apart from me having to work my butt off to keep Mr. Hyperactive from tearing my room apart. After school, though, I found out a major problem with the one-on-one testing I've been doing all week. I kind of got thrown under the bus. But it happens, and even though it sucks, it's something that has to happen. I ended up spending two and half hours after school pulling stuff that will keep my kids busy all day (NOT an easy feat), which is what put me in my initial bad mood.

Then, the little things took over.

When I say little things, I mean things that seem pretty minor unless they happen to you on a bad day. Example? Stubbing your toe. That hurts. A lot. You almost always say "fuck" when you stub your toe. Chuck Norris winces when he stubs his toe. But no one ever feels bad for you when it happens because it happens to everyone. Arguably, that's what makes those things suck. Because as much as they hurt, you never get any sympathy... just a "Suck it up."

Other little things that suck:

• Running into the corner of a table and getting an instant bruise.
• Breaking a nail. And I don't mean an "Oh no, I chipped my manicure" kind of break. I mean the kind of nail break that makes your finger about as useless as not having opposable thumbs. The kind that leaves you unable to pick up dimes for a week.
• Dropping a stack of very particularly organized papers. On a windy day.
• Scraping your knee (insert overplayed Family Guy clip)

I bet you never saw it coming that every single one of those things happened to me at once today as I walked to my car. Let me paint the picture- I was reaching into my bag to get my keys, carrying a plastic bin full of worksheets for my kids tomorrow. Distracted, I stubbed my toe. I flew forward. I reached forward to brace myself on my car, tore of my thumbnail, jammed the bin into my ribcage (not the exact equivalent of running into the corner of a table, but close enough), then fell to the concrete and scraped my knee. The papers? In the air. Blowing all over the parking lot.

Not that I'm trying to get anyone to feel bad for me (I am though), but it sucked. Rotten disgusting cherry on top of my pretty bad day. I fumed about it and wrote this blog in my head on the commute home and remained angry until a peanut butter DQ Blizzard erased most of the trauma. Except the stubbed toe and broken nail. Those HURT.