Good Morning Vietnam!

Alright , I know that I have been bragging to you about my happiness- well hold on partners I have a bit of bitching to do. Yes, I am still blissfully happy, but don’t get me wrong, I don’t actually wake to birds chirping, heavens opening and sun shining on my flawless face. I still wake to a toddler standing at the top of the stairs- screeching to rival a hyena’s mating call “Mooooommmmmyyyy!!!” Good Morning to me. My face is far from flawless because after the half a bottle of wine I talked myself into the night before, de-masking seems pointless. There for when jolted into awakeness I look like a member of Kiss. Some mornings do read like a Folgers commercial. This morning was not one of those mornings.


This morning whining was what was on the continental breakfast menu at Chez Slightly Irrational- and no it was not me whining. Little Man was on a mission to make me insane- even more so that most mornings. It began with changing. Whhhyyy? Whyy do I need to take my clothes off and put on new ones? Because. Why do I need to go to school? So that I don’t harm you. Why can I not finish my show? So Mommy doesn’t harm Special Agent Oso. I don’t want a granola bar. Perfect that means I can go another day without grocery shopping now get in the car. Why? So that I can bring you to school and make this whining go away before I harm myself. WHERE DID I LEAVE MY COFFEE?

Minutes later- more minutes than necessary, we are at the car. I pick Little Man up and get him into his car seat. But I wanted to get in all by myself. Too late. You wanted to do nothing other than drive me insane a minute ago and now you are all of a sudden an over achiever?

Whining takes a sudden turn. Whining has stopped and turned into a full speed scream. This scream differs from the screech at the top of the stairs that began this wonderful morning. This Scream has more juice. Little Man has more energy and his scratchy voice has been coated with milk therefore oiling his throat up for intense ear piercing shrills. And I am in a vehicle. I have others lives as well as my own and my sons in my 2 hands that are gripped to the steering wheel. I realize the danger that I am delving into operating a vehicle under such stressful conditions but my options are limited. And so I pull out of the driveway.

Go back! I want a Granola bar! Dear Lord- I know I only talk to you in situations similar to this but please listen to me and answer my prayers. Give me the strength to not drive head on into an oncoming Mac truck. Give me the patience that I have been begging for, for years. Let an alien land its space ship in front of my car and remove the area in my son’s brain responsible for whining, screeching and bratting. I want a granola bar from home!

I want to go home and start this dreadful morning over. I want to wake up in a 5 star hotel. I want there to be no whining on the menu at this hotels continental breakfast. I want there to be Bloody Mary’s instead and I want my angelic three year old who is missing the section of his brain responsible for whininess since his recent alien abduction to bring them to me in bed.

I'm BAAAACKKK

Ok I’m sorry- I know it has been awhile since my last blog and I apologize. It’s funny you know? When I wasn’t sure where I was going, when my love life was as successful as Obama’s attack on the deficit, when I needed a break from life- it was humorous to you…right? I get it- there is a reason why I stayed up last night until 11 watching Tru TV’s Dumbest Partiers. People that can’t get their shit together are hilarious, look at Snookie! But what happens when the storm subsides? Will I fall out of the blogging lime light because my life is less unfortunate, there for hilarious to the general public?


What is the black sheep’s claim to fame once shaved of his telling wool? I suppose I could go another route with my humor. Instead of asking you to join me in celebrating my daily woes I could make fun of others, but really a lawsuit for cyber bullying is not what I am looking for. I could go on and on telling you of my happiness but not only is that not funny, it is pompous and so not my style. After giving it a lot of thought I have decided to take you into my head (scary, I know). You see while content, even ecstatic at times I am not quite comfortable in happiness. I feel like an exchange student from the Middle East who comes to the US and discovers, peace, MTV and pop tarts but cannot truly embrace these wonders because the trip at some point must come to an end.

I find myself looking around my beautiful house, cuddling with my attentive, handsome, hard working partner, tucking my son into his bed and reading him a story, and walking the dog all the while thinking that at any minute I will trip, fall down the stairs, and wake up in my chaotic past. Or, in a mental institute having dreamt the whole happy life thing up in a wine induced slumber. And so I tip toe afraid to fall of the axis. And if you have ever seen my level of gracefulness you will know that the idea of this clumsy gal tiptoeing through day to day has much promise to be funny.