If there is someone that could be famous for her "wig outs", that person would be me.
Oh yeah, I lost it big time this past weekend. Yup, I "wigged it".
Totally, had a monumental "wig out" session.
I am, with out a doubt... one of the "wiggiest, wig out girls" out there.
My "wig outs" are famous amongst my family members. Over the years they have come to recognize the signs. And they live in fear! as they should
1. preparation of a highly anticipated dinner/party/occasion
2. increased craftiness/sewing projects that are due on the very same day of the "highly anticipated dinner/party/occasion
3. lack of sleep, due to me working in my very own sweat shop, morning, noon, and night
4. odd OCD tendencies that rear their ugly heads, while preparing for the highly anticipated dinner/party/occasion
5. And last but not least... PMS!!!!!!!!
I ask you my female friends... Why?!?!?! Why, must we suffer so?!?!?!?!
I suffer from a rare, and debilitating, disease called, Itakeontoomuchcannotsaynooverdoithormonalbeast-itis. It's true. Look it up in the medical books and you will find the words, refer to Jennifer.
The events that lead up to my monumental melt down, are as follows:
I began to clean (OCD) for the highly anticipated dinner/party/occasion two weeks prior to the day of the event (Last Thursday). I cleaned light fixtures. I cleaned and totally re-arranged the pot shelf. I cleaned the top of the kitchen cabinets. I cleaned all of the my decorative items that sit on top of the kitchen cabinets and re-arranged those, also. I cleaned walls and base boards. I obsessed over my dirty carpet, that I just didn't have time to have cleaned.
Quite frankly, I obsessed. Because, you know, in my mind I envision my guests possibly noticing the 5 inch thick layer of dust and ick on top of my kitchen cabinets. (Sigh) I'm a dork.
The other event that lead up to the "wig out", was me sewing, painting, sanding, and gluing various projects for a boutique with my pal, Jenifer. (her name totally rawks). I, of course, over did it. NO! ME?
I worked (slaved) morning, day and night. (mainly night, due to crazy toddler). The morning of the highly anticipated dinner/party/occasion, I was still sewing, painting, sanding and gluing. Good times, my friends. Good times. But in the end, I'm always proud of what I accomplished and I did manage to make a little money. Cha-ching!
The day of the highly anticipated dinner/party/occasion was most likely the pinnacle of what lead up to melt down city. I only had 3 hours of sleep (genius) the night before and to start the day off, I failed miserably at making my Eclair Cake for the dinner. In fact, I failed TWICE. I took it as a sign and purchased cheese cake. One can never go wrong with cheese cake. I planned on making homemade rolls, cause I can make-a some-a good-a rolls-a. Didn't happen.
I asked my son (threatened his x-box privileges for the rest of his life) to clean the yard and the driveway. It kinda happened.
I totally failed at shutting the garage door before my guests arrived. I must apologize for the unsightly chaos that lies within my garage. It's the husband's fault.
I totally failed at replenishing the toilet paper supply in the very bathroom that my sweet guests would be using. One of my poor guests notified me of this. I hold my head down in shame. I also pray that my guests did not have to resort to desperate measures while using my facilities. Again...I apologize, cause I have been there, done that.
Then, when my husband had arrived home from his training for his new career, I thought salvation was mine! "Oh thank you, thank you!" I praised. I had thought my hubbin of lovin' would help me prepare chicken, grate cheese, and most importantly...entertain our crazy toddler. Oh how I was wrong!!! please refer to the following scenario.
the hubs walks into the kitchen
me: smiles and jumps with glee that he has arrived to save me
the hubs was tazered that day, due to the required training for his new career and I ask him: "Oh, how did it go?" (with sincere concern for his well-being)
the hubs: "It sucked." and then he showed me one of the probes. One to his back and one to the upper right cheek. Yikes!
me: "Did you fall to your knees and scream like a little girl?"
the hubs: "Oh yeah!"
me: "Can you help me?!?!?! I need help?!?!?!?! Can you take Conner?!?!?!?!?! Please help me!!!!!!"
the hubs: "I can't. I gotta go work at my other career."
me: "WHATTTTTTT!!!" blood pumping, eyes turn to glaring slits, bad thoughts run through my head.
the hubs: "I told you I gotta work! I just can't take off tonight! Blah, blah, blah, whatever, whatever."
me: "Whatever. Go." (he's afraid now. very afraid)
me: thoughts that run through my head...now I don't feel so bad about the tazering and I would've paid money to watch.
"Whoa-oh here she comes! Watch out boy, she'll chew you up!"
The highly anticipated dinner/party/occasion started out kinda nice. I did write, kinda. Conner also decided to attend my party and entertained us by climbing every table, pouring salt and pepper on everything, stabbing the cheese cake with forks, raiding the candy bowls, putting his entire hand in my guest's drinks and then hurling food at Sarah. I found Sarah cowering near my bay window, hands up to defend herself, and all the while Conner laughing evil-ly.
"Who's that kid's mother, anyway?" Sheesh!
Yup. All of these events were leading up to a hormonal unbalanced, over worked, lack of sleep, mother to crazy toddler and pre-teen son, "wig out".
... to be continued