Grrr. That's me these days. Negative Nellie. Or Negative Nancy, whatever floats your boat. And I really have nothing to complain about. We are all healthy. Spring is in the air and the snow is melting. On the whole, life is good.
But my mood is on the foul side. If you are a Facebook friend you will have noticed the tart flavour of my recent status updates.
On Monday my status read as follows:
"Sometimes I want to comment on a student's assignment, "Did you read my revision comment, at all, before you made your changes? I thought not."
For a living (ha!) I do contract work for the education system that trains Chartered Accountants (CA) in Western Canada. My weekends are spent providing feedback on weekly assignments. Students then use these comments to revise their assignments. It never ceases to amaze me that someone with a university education (a requirement to become a CA) can't read. And there is at least one in every group of students I work with. Likely they are just having a bad day but after a few like that, it really increases my use of profanity, you know?
Then Tuesday I kicked it up a notch (or three):
To Whom it May Concern,
Yes, while breastfeeding is beautiful, natural and wonderful (blah, blah, blah) I do not, I repeat, I do not want to see pictures of you or others you have photographed breastfeeding. It's private, personal and should be kept that way.
Huh. Single handedly trashed both my students and breastfeeding in two days. The talent abounds. Actually it isn't breastfeeding that I have issue with . I bf'd both my boys for part of their first year. And I did it in public. Discreetly. What I don't want to see are photos of people feeding their babies. Because these are not usually overly discreet and also, why? I get, on some level, the desire to have such photographs taken. What I don't get is the need to share them with others.
There a lot of beautiful things in life that do not require photographic evidence. In fact, as friends commented on my status it occurred to me that a classic example of this is taking a really good bowel movement (welcome to my mind, it's frightening).
It's a beautiful thing.
C'mon, you know what I am talking about. Don't pretend to be grossed out, we all poop.
Did the picture of flowers help? No? Bear with me. My point is that some things are not meant to be shared.
But is it the pictures in specific that have my panties in a knot?
No. But the fact that Superstore appears to no longer sell my favourite tea, President's Choice Green Chai, does. In fact, I think the black cloud appeared above my head precisely at 10:12 AM this morning when I discovered this. What they do have is black tea with Chai spice. H-E-llo, menopausal 35 year old can't have black caffeine, unless waking up in night sweats is what you call a good time. I have it on good authority that this 35 year old does not.
And speaking of groceries. Has a pack of 400 lb gorillas moved into the basement? I am forever getting groceries to the tune of $250 plus. A week. There are only four of us. I haven't yet found the gorilla's hiding spot but when I do, they are all out on their ears.
And these gorillas don't make meal requests. And you are going to think I am crazy (hell, you already know I am crazy) but I wish they did. I love to cook. No really, I actually do. What I hate is the daily question, "What should I make for supper?"
Correction. It's not the question I loathe, it's the fact that I seem to always be the one who has to answer it. My family is just really laid back. Every now and then someone will throw out a request but for the most part, I get the generic, "I don't know" or my all time favourite, "That's the million dollar question, now isn't it Mommy?"
Is it wrong to say, "No shit Sherlock" to your kids? Right. I knew that.
Also contributing to my gloom and doom is my seeming inability to keep things organized around here. Opening a closet requires lightening quick reflexes that rival the Karate Kid. Get in and out before the crap, er, I mean, stuff swallows you whole. In fact, we are not sure, but we may have once lost a child in that catch all closet we like to forget about. No worries, we toss some granola bars in there every once in a while, he'll be fine.
But when I have time to organize and clean this stuff, do I? Oh no. There are 1,000 other things I'll find to do before organizing a closet.
Then again, do I want to be defined by my immaculately clean and organized home? I am thinking no, but I'll get back to you, just as soon as I am finish complaining.
Don't hold your breath.