I need a mad face emoji, stat.
That’s a sad face.
I’m definitely feeling MAD. As in FIERY. FUMING. FIERCELY FEROCIOUS.
Let me see if I can google an emoji like that.
*taps on keyboard furiously*
Too hard to do, in my mangled mental state.
3:45 am: Just had a nightmare, consoled myself through Instagram confessions, called husband (he worked overtime through the night), tried to go back to sleep, trolled the web, started to fall back asleep again, until you know who arrived home at 5:10am. Then, as sleepy me does, opened my eyes, then mouth to talk to him . . . .
Now. . .am utterly, undeniably exasperated .
3:45 am: He was completely charming, witty and lovely. Telling me not to re-hash my fears, and making silly jokes about my love of Instagram.
“Do you want me to tell you the horror of my dream?”
“No,” he said rather resolute. “It will only re-hash the terrible thing, and then you’ll really have trouble going back to bed.”
I giggled. “Well, I already told all of Instagram. . .as I laid here yawning, crying, and frightened to death.” And I could hear his breath change from slow deep inhales, to those of a choppy giggle that he was trying to hold in.
But now . . . .
.. .he’s home, and he’s sleepy and my listless state of narcolepsy is telling me he’s a big fat know-it-all jerk face.
In the dark room, I whisper, “Did you send that email?”
“No.” A bit irritated, then he slips into bed. His body saying . . .I’m tired Nicole. I’ve been working all day and all night. I don’t want to do this right now. Just. Want. To. Sleep
* I read….DO. IT. YOURSELF. like any insane sleep deprived woman. Obviously.*
Now my face is contorted and my brow is raised, but it’s dark and he can’t see, so he’s unable to interpret the danger that he’d sense in the daylight. How could he have not sent THAT email? He knows he was supposed to send it. And now, I’m traumatized from horrors of my dark mental mind. How could he? HOW COULD HE?
“Well then, if you didn’t do THAT, did you at least look at the flash drive of pictures I want to give Coach?” A whisper-growl this time, hoping to give him an exit to the despair I feel coming on.
“Yes.” is what he says. But there is this foreboding feeling that lingers, and I know the black clouds are moving in.
There is a mumble about me organizing the pictures wrong. Some gabbing and stuttering about the blurry photographs that I took, and not grouping the photo file folders the way he told me to.
His yawn is growing deep with weariness. He turns on his side, with his nose inches away from mine. If I had on glasses, his breathe would fog the edges of the lenses.
” You did those pictures all wrong. They were blurry and I had to rearrange them and put them in folders before going through 500 million more just to make them organized.”
My cheeks are filling with blood. I stare blankly into the dark, and then reach out my hand that has been warmed by the covers and shove it into his face.
“What!!!????” he says.
Like he doesn’t know. Then he places his hand on my back. I wiggle away. He is not dettered. He moves it to my hip.
Nope. Move it buddy.
And then! In a blink of an eye, the sweet boy that I remember sitting at the school cafeteria table 20 years ago. . .with a shy mischevious grin mumbled something to me, I dare not repeat.
And . . .
I knocked him in the head until his eyes popped out.
No I didn’t. But I did kick him in the knee, and then saunter my cute hiney out the door, so he could think about what happens when you forget that I AM A LADY.
The type that always wants to be right, or at least not wrong most of the time. The type who wants to be told that she is gorgeous and wonderful and completely amazing even if its 4 am, her hair is wild, her breathe not the freshest, and she catalogued digital pictures in a way that only a kindergartener would understand.
AND. . .TO BE CLEAR. . .she is also NOT. . .
the hoochie sort. I know, I know. All the promises I made as a newlywed. Well, I’ve changed my mind and I’m not that way. AND EVEN IF. . .I were to want to be that way. . . I certainly wouldn’t be on this day.
Lest HE FORGET! I am the type of wife who just for the love of God wants a husband who says “Whatever the wife says! She’s the boss!” or “Happy Wife, Happy Life!” Whatever happened to those type of husbands? Where are they? I need one.
Not the one’s that are so critical, and so completely bossy pants. Because I am bossy pants too! And these pants are NOT big enough for both of us Mister!
And shut up, Mr. Woo.
That was not an invitation for another one of your unseemly jokes.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
I’m sitting at Starbucks as I type, and I’m feeling pretty happy with myself.
I don’t know. . . it’s like I’m finding my voice that I used to have in my pre-teens, all over again in my 40’s. Except, every person in the universe is my mom and dad. And I just don’t give a flip and I have so much fire in my soul that can’t be contained.
And I love it.
I’ve spent the last 18 years of my life, cultivating the sweet little family that I have, and suddenly something has shifted, and I can take off my beige and black, and fill my life with rainbow EVERYTHING.
I find I’m cursing more. I’m a bit more selfish, and tad more funny and a lot more me.
Also, I think suddenly some neurons have turned on in my brain and I’m filled with the best ideas EVER (which have probably already occurred to millions, but are just now occurring to me.)
TODAY’s stroke of genius, beside telling my hubby where he could take his bull**** is. . .
I’ve finally awoken to the fact that I could have the most wonderful Green Tea Latte at Starbucks without as many carbs.
So here’s the magic recipe. . . .
- Tell the Barista to make it with. . . Almond Milk (it’s a better option than their Coconut Milk or Soymilk if your looking to lower your carbs. The other two will raise your carb count by an additional 12 and 20 grams respectively.)
- Order a Tall. It’s still going be 9 carbs total (8 net carbs if you account for fiber). . .this treat is a real winner in my book. . .and a ton better than the classic version.
One cup of Starbuck’s Green Tea Latte made with Starbuck’s brand Almondmilk contains. . .
and the original 2% version packs away 25 carbs and 24 grams of sugar. . .
EVEN BETTER. . . . .
Make it at home with your own Matcha which won’t be the Starbucks Match + Sugar laden version. Then, you can add your favorite Stevia or other sugar substitute, stay in your jammies, and count all the the money you save.
If you want to hear the TOTAL LIVE Re-hashing of my horrible, horrible, nightmare. . .go to my Instagram page and click on the story (round circle at the mid-top of the page) entitled “The Nightmare”. Its a doozy 🙂