I woke up feeling like someone had pounded the snot out of me with a Louisville Slugger this morning. I guess it’s time to pull the blankets out of the closet. Or maybe just turn the ceiling fan off at night. But that hyperactive ovary has me doing the pre-menopausal night sweat dance. You know the one. Where you are hot as hell and feeling like your clothes are choking all the oxygen out of you even though you’re only wearing a thin cotton nightshirt and going commando in case your husband decides to wake you up for a zesty session once the kids finally fall asleep. And then after about 10 minutes of comfortable sleep once you’ve kicked the covers off your sweaty body, the ceiling fan cools you off from comfortable to “damn, I feel like someone jammed an icicle through my spine” and then of course, you can’t find the bedspread that you kicked across the room only moments earlier. And the mad vicious circle continues all night.

So after little to no real sleep, I awoke to a vicious headache and pretzel-like muscles. Then my kids started the  “he was supposed to be third today on the computer and I was supposed to be first”–“No, you’re a butthole liar” routine not only before coffee…but before I’d had my morning pee. This was my first clue to Suckfest 2011. I asked the kids to please be merciful and quiet since I had all the signs of an oncoming migraine and they promised they would just before the youngest two decided to host an indoor soccer match in the boys’ room. The two older boys engaged in mortal combat for the remainder of the day and well into the evening. (As a matter of fact, they only called a truce about 20  minutes ago when “Hancock” came on tv and sat down on opposite ends of the couch to watch it together.)

I was supposed to take Randa back to the dentist tonight. He tried like hell to get her broken molar out yesterday but he made a mistake and let her see the needle before I got her sunglasses with the electrical tape on the outside lenses on her. And she said, “Dentist is jackass! No way, Jose! Wanna go home!” and  proceeded to argue with him for the next half hour as he tried to coax her into opening her mouth. He started to come at her with the needle and she actually yelled, “No. No. I love you.” at him. At which point all he could do was crack up laughing and ask me to try and bring her back tonight. I tried to prepare her all day for it. I poked her in the gums with my fingernail several times and said, “See? 2 small needles here and here and then the dentist will pull out your tooth.” And she answered each time differently. “No way,” turned into “Uhm, no thanks,” and then “Maybe later, Dear,” and then finally, “Okay.” Then she went to sleep about 7:30pm. I went in to wake her at 8:15 so we could be at the dentists by 8:30. I asked her one more time, “Are you going to let the dentist give you a needle here and here and then pull out your broke tooth so it won’t hurt anymore?” And she said, “No way, Jose! It’s sleepy time.”

Screw it. If she finally gets sick of it hurting, she’ll let him do it. Or we’ll wait until it comes loose and falls out on its own. Either way, I’m tired of pulling my hair out over it…and everything else.

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