The fray

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The fray

Today is not a good day.
I woke in the middle of the night with a deep aching in my wrist. Carpel tunnel. After an hour or so of fitful readjusting I slept like a new born, waking every 45 minutes or so in various states of discomfort. At 705am the first sister came into my room, loaded with backpack, papers.. At 708 the second sister came up, requesting a play date for today, my iPad and my attention. The rule is I can sleep until 8 on Sundays. The rule had been broken again. Having no back up, I try to sleep as the two sisters stage whisper to each other, argue, the dog barks. At 730 I give up, haul my tired body out of bed, stumble over shoes left in my room, stuffed animals and dirty socks littering my floor. Sigh. My roommates are not terribly considerate. Oh, and they don’t pay any rent and sigh and snap when asked to do their part. But then, I’m not having a good day. Everything seems grim.
I make coffee let the dogs out, discover the dog has chewed up my Van Gogh coasters, a gift for my father from Amsterdam. I cringe as I step on cupcake sprinkles, yesterday’s task to clean them up had been abandoned for funner things. Someone has forgotten to flush the toilet. Again. Cat food is still in the car. Cats are slinking around my feet. Hungry. Meowing. On Facebook it seems all my friends are doing the most fun stuff ever. I feel like a child. Returned from my trip to Europe, the fun has already run out. I’m back to being just a single mom.
I pry the sprinkles off my feet. Fish my wrist brace out of the closet. Rant and complain as I make my way around the house. Girls scramble, confused. Socks get put in the laundry, laundry gets put in the washing machine. I issue orders. They sigh, but comply. The sun shines, I sigh. Today is a stupid day. It’s 9am.

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