Not so funny anymore

You may have noticed that I try to find any scrap of humor that may be found in what are otherwise exasperating situations.

Sometimes, I think the most intolerable circumstances eventually yield the best stories. But then there are times when Mama is just worn down and the smallest problem is overwhelming.

Today was one such day. I hate to write a bummer post, but in the interest of authenticity I figured my readers should know that for this camel, that straw weighed a freakin' ton.

Those of you who have been keeping up to date know that I was recently away visiting family with my kids. Husband was enjoying the peace and quiet because he had to "work". Apparently that also covers going over to his friend's place to admire the rifle collection. Not that I'm upset; I'd rather he admire someone else's deadly weapons than collect them himself.

During my trip, we tried to control our Hectic.
Hectic Rule #1: only one outing per day, or only one batch of visitors invited to my mom's house per day.
Hectic Rule #2: get kids to bed at a reasonable hour, with some small allowance for the fact that we were on vacation and leaving places at 7:30 pm is (surprise, surprise) an unpopular idea.
Hectic Rule #3: get in a nap every day, even if it's only 10 minutes.
Hectic Rule #4: resort to alcohol if Rules 1-3 fall through.

I relied on Rule #4 a lot. But then, so did Tantie and all the other adults scattered around the house. Both of my sisters plus husbands were staying there too. I think they were even more tired than I by the end.

I go on autopilot when I'm in stress. Like cramming for finals or finishing my term paper in the few small hours before it was due, and still feeling alert at 4:23 am. Like going through my wedding day all serene and calm.

When it's all over I crash. In my pre-child life, it meant getting a roaring migraine shortly after the fireworks ended. These days I don't have time for migraines, so it basically means I turn into a fire-breathing dragon with no fuse and black periods of self-pity.

Luckily these don't last long. I can already feel the fog lifting, although that might have been one too many hits with the nasal spray (oh yeah, I also always get a cold after repressed stress). I think there might be a Coors Light in the fridge, too.

Today's freak out started with Kye's fever and fussing (who also has a bad cold), continued with a long wait at the doctor's office, compounded by Tweenie's soccer practice on a crunchy field under a scorching sun, and topped off by a tantrum from Rascal who didn't want to use his usual brand of toothpaste - at least, that was his jumping-off point. He branched out from there.

I of course kept my cool through it all. Ok, I lie. I spent the day in simmering anger. I must not hide it very well, because my kids are like mirrors of my moods. I didn't blow until much later, but my black mood was infectious from the first moment. I am annoyed at myself that I couldn't get a grip.

And so I sit here now, spilling my catharsis into cyberspace for all you fine folks to read. Feeling a lot better already. Hoping for a better day tomorrow.