You have one of those days … everyone does. It starts at 4:40 a.m. when your kid wakes you up and it ends at 9:00 p.m when both kids, one of which posts a fever of 101 all day, finally go down.
You’ve had to do it solo because your other half is conveniently stuck in traffic for the fourth night in row. You think … dude take a different route. You handled the multiple personalities that come with kid sickness. You’ve worked the mother marathon and got the backache to prove it.
You feel drained and just when you think there’s no more juice in the lemon, the writer rejection comes in and sucks it dry. Add a little mom commentary to the mix and the lemon gets smashed by a steamroller leaving little lemon zest scattered on the sidewalk. You feel rejected, dejected, deflated. You are not Superwoman. You’re not even Wonder Woman. You need Tony Robbins, because nothing is gonna pull you out of this funk. So you wallow in it for the rest of the night. Just feel bad. Everyone has a right to feel crappy one night … but just one. Drown in it and then wake up the next day, try to think of something you’re grateful for, and walk it off.
You try your punching bag for about ten minutes, but that doesn’t work.
So you head to the freezer, open it, and see the gallon just sitting there … why not? The Titanic has claimed this night, might as well go down with the ship accompanied by chocolate. You open the cabinets and look for a bowl. A big one.
You plop yourself on the couch and thirty minutes later it’s gone. Granted it wasn’t completely full to begin with, but nevertheless you ate the whole tub. But you feel like Forrest Gump when he sits next to Jenny after she throws multiple stones at her rundown childhood home. He says “… Sometimes there’s just not enough rocks.”
Yeah sometimes there’s just not enough rocky road to turn the night around.
So you go back to the freezer and pull out a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Cookie Dough Ice Cream.
That should do it.