Lately, I've been feeling used and abused, like my sad, smelly dishrag at the bottom of my kitchen sink.*
Nice visual, eh?
There are two parts to this use and abuse story. Part one I need to keep off the public forum. Sorry. Suffice it to say that part one is the part that makes me sad.
Part two is certainly the smelly part and involves this. Remember Annie's mom? She's back. And wanting carpool rights again. And to hang out. And do stuff. I've given her a try, I honestly did. We shuffled her daughter to school when there were doctor appointments/illnesses involved. Our kids truly love playing together. But I don't really like Annie's mom and the Ty-man can't stand her. And I don't know where to go with this. I, honestly, would rather have my fingernails yanked out by a Tudor-era torture specialist looking for information on Anne Boleyn's lovers than to spend an hour with Annie's mom. Annie coming over for an afternoon? Cool. Annie's mom coming over to watch said afternoon of play and dish with me? Shoot me. Me taking the kids to Annie's mom's neighborhood pool? I would rather play Marco Polo with the HOA bully in my neighborhood pool.
Have I made my point? Yeah, I had that "beating a dead horse" visual, too.
Amidst all of this dishrag drama, I just want to carry my sad, smelly self up the stairs and hide out in the "sanitize" cycle of my washer.
Does anybody have any bleach?
*Except I don't smell because I shower every day with a nice coconut-scented soap. I am, however, sad.