Grump, groan, bitch, moan…
posted in Uncategorized |Complain, complain, complain.
OmegaMom is in One Of Those Moods.
I’m sure you know the kind of mood. Where nothing anyone does is right. Where you’re just itching to Be Alone. Please. Where if somebody came up to you, smiling and happy and joyous, all you’d want to do is smack them.
Tell me it’ll be better tomorrow.
“Tomorrow, tomorrow, I’ll think about tomorrow, tomorrow is a braaaaand neeeew daaaaaay!”
Hah. That didn’t help any. Now I want to smack the authors, lyricists, and songwriters of Annie.
On Sunday, my 102-year-old grandmother–bless her heart–told me my hair looked scraggly. She also asked if I was going grey (yes, Grandma, I’ve been going grey since I was 25, thankyewverramuch).
So, since her eyesight is going, that meant my hair really looked scraggly. And grey.
Then I saw the pics of me on OmegaGranny’s blog. Sunken eyes, blotchy face, scraggly hair and all.
Bah.
So I got a much-needed haircut yesterday afternoon.
Alas, I got the dregs of SuperCuts. Oh, it’s an okay haircut. In fact, OmegaDotter has been constantly saying, out of the blue, “I really like your haircut, Mommy!” (which is nice). But it’s too short. (Yes, I know it will grow out.) There’s an area on the left side of my bangs where it’s supposed to segue gracefully into the remainder of the hair, but doesn’t–it is chunked up an inch shorter in the next lock. And while she did a nice job outlining the ears, the rest just leaves me feeling cold.
I did the dotter’s fingernails this evening. This always, in my imagination, is a nice mommy-daughter bonding moment. In reality, the dotter fidgets, wiggles, scratches, mashes her newly painted fingernails against the paper towels, the chair, her clothes, my clothes. And my rosy daydreams of gentle bonding go *poof*. Bah.
The floor around the coffee table, the coffee table itself, and the futon are all covered with scrids and scrads of paper, various crayons, some toys, and remnants of balloon animals. I want Someone Else to clean it up, because it’s not my mess. Dammit.
Did I mention I’m in a Bad Mood? I’m in a Bad Mood.
Bitch, moan, gripe, groan, complain, complain, complain.

