There's a children's book titled Alexander and Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. I had one of those mornings. It started with an unpleasant incident that turned into a series of unpleasant incidents.
Our toddler Aaron woke up two hours earlier than usual. Then upon entering our kitchen, I discovered our annoyingly persistent ant problem had returned in full force. This was particularly bothersome on that day, since we were expecting a large number of guests who would undoubtedly judge us for our apparent uncleanliness and never return to visit us again (which was completely untrue, but that is the conclusion my brain came to. We actually have very gracious and non-judging friends).
While simultaneously fixing breakfast, consoling my inconsolable and very fussy son, and cleaning the house for the guests, I tried to fix the ant problem by hosing the highway of ants with bleach. When it seemed like the chaos of the morning was settling into manageability, I looked down and saw that bleach had gotten sprayed onto the front of my blouse. And not just any blouse, but a new blouse that I had been particularly excited to wear.
In my ruined, bleach-splotched new blouse, all inner reserves of peace, grace, and adaptability went out the window, and I had a meltdown. I cried, I directed a few choice curse words towards the ants and the universe, I slammed doors and stomped around like a little child who wasn't getting her way.
Thankfully, my husband managed to talk me down from The Bad Place, and the rest of the day was significantly less dramatic. I suppose the day ended up as Larissa and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Morning, and a Decent Rest of the Day.
Our toddler Aaron woke up two hours earlier than usual. Then upon entering our kitchen, I discovered our annoyingly persistent ant problem had returned in full force. This was particularly bothersome on that day, since we were expecting a large number of guests who would undoubtedly judge us for our apparent uncleanliness and never return to visit us again (which was completely untrue, but that is the conclusion my brain came to. We actually have very gracious and non-judging friends).
While simultaneously fixing breakfast, consoling my inconsolable and very fussy son, and cleaning the house for the guests, I tried to fix the ant problem by hosing the highway of ants with bleach. When it seemed like the chaos of the morning was settling into manageability, I looked down and saw that bleach had gotten sprayed onto the front of my blouse. And not just any blouse, but a new blouse that I had been particularly excited to wear.
In my ruined, bleach-splotched new blouse, all inner reserves of peace, grace, and adaptability went out the window, and I had a meltdown. I cried, I directed a few choice curse words towards the ants and the universe, I slammed doors and stomped around like a little child who wasn't getting her way.
Thankfully, my husband managed to talk me down from The Bad Place, and the rest of the day was significantly less dramatic. I suppose the day ended up as Larissa and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Morning, and a Decent Rest of the Day.
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