Sometimes there are bad days.
Today was one of those.
It was hot. Hot as hell. And dry, too, which meant there were lots of cottony things swishing through the air and making this allergy-sufferer sneeze and wheeze and snort and have watery eyes.
And Grayson had gas. Bad gas. Which meant that he was alternately crying or farting. And I'm not sure which was worse. Except in the moments when it happened simultaneously, which sort of made him pause and look perplexingly around as if to say, "What, mother, was that strange noise?" And this, sort of made me laugh, which just pissed him off more.
And I have a rash. A bad rash. Which spreads over both of my legs and which the doctor called today "unspecified," which means we don't know what caused it, just that it itches. It itches badly. And after she prescribed the cortisone cream she said, "But, we should probably determine what the cause is, or it might come back." And I have wracked my brain and I simply don't know. I don't know at all. And the detective in me, the former president of the Garfield Spy Club, hates not knowing.
And I got some bad news. And it irritated me. And made me sad. And there it is. And it may have been caused by this here blog. And so be it.
But...in a not at all Pollyanna-ish way, I also am thankful for the poignant blessings of the day--family who love me, who love me enough to take me out for a Mexican fiesta supper (and then to a Babies R Us rendezvous to buy more waterproof crib pads--Ole!), family who send me consoling emails, family who stomp their feet in righteous indignation when I am hurt, a baby who smiles and coos and brightens when I am in his eyesight and friends who console and heal and hold out olive branches when they aren't even necessary.
And so, on this bad day, on this June 7th. I pout and protest and then I pour myself a glass of chardonay wine and think about what's next.
And I know that because God created peanut M&M's thereby prooving Her love for us, it will all be okay.