Rantings of the Weak and Whiney

It all started with scouts. Actually, it started around 10:30am with a mild headache.

I could tell from the first little tingles and zaps behind my left eye that it was going to be my 'normal' I-don't-know-what-in-the-heck-causes-it headache which is managed by a wonderful overdose of Dr. Pepper, Tylenol sinus, ibuprofen, fenugreek and thyme and any other remedy that pops into my head (no pun intended) in a lame attempt to win the battle. I always lose. I just have to numb it enough to drag myself through my responsibilities for approximately 48 hours until the monster decides he has danced long enough on the stage of my head. Funny that I would consider this inconsiderate, unexplainable, nonsense, stupidity a "he" . . . but we won't go there.

Instead let's jump to 4:00 this afternoon. Five male 9 year olds, including my own, show up at my door to make cookies for tomorrows pack night and to play horseshoes outside while they are baking. Who in the heck came up with these requirements? Did the instigator of requirements ever spend 45 minutes imprisoned in a kitchen with five talking tornadoes all trying to outdo each other in volume or experience the wrestling, punching, smack talking, immature, testosterone driven boys who seem to not even have ears on their heads?

I consider myself a pretty patient woman as far as this type of tornado child is concerned - I have 2 of them and I married one. However, this about put me over the edge. I finally, smacked my hand on the counter and said in a rather firm, deep voice (which immediately got the attention of the other leader and 1 boy) "everybody look at me, NOW". I thought it was rather mild considering I wanted to reach across the island and with 2 hands grab all of their squirmy little necks and bang them together in one circle to then wrap duct tape around their mouths while bellowing out "shut up and stop moving!" And "shut up" is considered a swear word in our family.

Ah, I just love my calling. Read as much dripping sarcasm in this comment as you want to.

I took a deep breath as we finished up the 6th, yes I said 6th, dozen of cookies and I rather tactlessly (is that a word?) scooted them out the door not really hearing or caring about the score of horseshoes. By this time it is 5:25 and I need to get dinner made. My headache easily doubled in intensity in the matter of 85 minutes.

In my children's defense, they quickly pulled together to get dinner going. Justin quickly volunteered to make bean and bacon soup (I think he knew I was on the verge of yelling directly in his face "shut your mouth, stop moving and go to bed!), Derek and Erika worked together to set the table and make cheese sandwiches, Levi pacified Nathan until dinner was ready and I proceeded to feed the chubby piranha that recognizes me as his food source. I was calming down, though the monster in my head was just gearing up.

I was determined to still have a great evening. After all, Biggest Loser Season Premier was airing tonight. A 2 hour special. Hey, I wasn't just going to sit on my duff on the couch to find other's misery entertaining . . . I was going to be putting together my brand new elliptical.

A little history would help here. The day before we found out about the contractor going bankrupt on us I had ordered an elliptical. This purchase was not made lightly. It only came after being rudely discriminated against by BYUI because I don't teach or attend there (and I was even willing to wear their less than flattering grey t-shirts) and researching the price of the only gym in town that I accepted the fact that if I wanted to get any kind of cardio exercise that wouldn't injure my foot any more than it already is . . . I would have to order my own elliptical. By the time we had found out all of the details about the bankruptcy the elliptical had already been shipped and I couldn't cancel without paying the return shipping charge - since I was getting it with free shipping.

So free shipping must really mean: whenever we get around to sending it we'll use the slowest freight company we can and maybe you'll get it before you lose your enthusiasm for purchase, or even remember that you in fact did purchase something. It was supposed to come from California. Seriously, does that take 3 weeks?!? I could have driven there and back in 3 days! Of course, that wouldn't have been free shipping.

And now I'm off track. To get back to the story: my plan was to DVR Biggest Loser, spend the evening enjoying a building project with my 14 year old daughter (putting together the elliptical) and then this week I would work out 4 times - 30 minutes each time - while watching a 30 min. segment of the 2 hour premier. Self control? Who am I kidding? I'd really watch the whole thing at once.

The assembly was going great, the headache fairly numb after my dose of Dr. Pepper and drugs, and then the demon of defective parts came crashing our party. We had about 1/2 the project done when I found a broken wire (6 little tiny wires coming together with 6 more tiny wires and 1 of them was broken, another pinched and about to break). We had been so careful that I really didn't feel we had done it. We only found the wire problem while trying to attach the arm to the frame and the metal ring on the arm breaks into 4 pieces as if it was made of dried play dough instead of metal. I managed to blurt out the teenage vocabulary of swear word substitutes that run rampant in our house instead of the colorful four letter words that zip through my mind as a result of having worked in a cow barn. That seemed to be just the jolt that the villainous headache was waiting for and suddenly I was near tears from the pain in my head, the frustration of waiting 3 1/2 weeks for this darn piece of equipment and now I have to make phone calls and try to get someone to fix the problem which will probably take weeks.

I tried to calm down again. Not so easy with the hungry, ready for bed baby crying at me and wanting his own attention. I get the babies to bed and start rummaging through all the paperwork, only to find even more fine print than what was on the internet, and none of it is good. The manufacture warranty will replace parts, if I pay for them, come to my house to fix it, if I pay for travel and will refund my money, if I pay shipping to return the whole thing, with all of its parts, packed back into the original box - as if we can get it all back in the way it came. The extended warranty won't cover anything for 90 days, until the manufacture warranty is expired.

Why am I the 5% of the population that the loopholes were written for???

In all my searching, which lasted until about 10pm I finally decided - or rather I was forced to by my pounding head - to just leave it all and go to bed. I went downstairs to find LeRoy and all I found was a basement full of sleeping boys, blaring light fixtures, the TV still on and no husband. There are a total of 19 light fixtures in that massive space and 14 of them were on! Seriously, can 4 boys not muster up just enough responsibility to turn off the lights? Who do they think does that? There isn't a light switch fairy.

So I look for LeRoy and on the way notice all that has been left undone in the bedtime routine. Not only are there lights on all over the house but the back door isn't shut tight, none of the doors are locked, the garage door is open, the garbage hasn't been taken out to the road, the dishwasher has not been started, there are clothes - which I already folded - still in a basket in the hallway and where do I find my husband? In bed with the light on. No "goodnight", no help, no sympathy for the trail of bad luck that has been emblazoned on my day. I'm standing all alone, awake, miserable, disappointed. Woe is me.

Now the nighttime routine is finished. My body only gets caffeine when a headache demands it so I'm wound up from the Dr. Pepper and all I can do is blog. Pathetic.

While I'm ranting, here is a final thought. How creative should a mother have to get to have her kids put away their clean, folded laundry? I don't always fold it but I find that if I do it tends to not look like they have slept in every outfit they put on. I've left it neatly in piles on the couch and asked in such a kind, loving way for them to put it away. I've put it in their lockers and it still manages to never make it to their rooms, they started streaking through the house to their lockers to get clean clothes. The worst was when I filled 3 steps (one for each boy) with their clothes neatly folded only to have them leap over the steps as if I had set up a track event in the stairwell. Even if the clothes make it to their rooms, they live like they don't own dressers or closets. There sit those piles of clean clothes until all of the innocent garments are transferred from bodies to, once again, the laundry pile. They have ignored this laundress long enough.

Here's my newest solution. Tomorrow I am going to go through each bedroom and gather up all of those clean, homeless piles of clothes and put them in a large bag. And I'm going to keep collecting them until these lazy punks start realizing they have no clothes. Then they can earn them back. Oh, the to-do list that is already running through my head. I could actually get quite a bit done with this system.

Ok, I don't think sitting here staring at this computer is helping my head any. Though getting the rant out has released a large dose of negative from my emotions and energy. If only the other 7 people in this house knew how lucky they are that I've blogged my rant instead of forcing it upon them!

(and thus we see that the title of this blog is befitting of the writer)