I Want to Get Away.

Dear Diary, 

This is Fiji. This is where I need to be.

     As I began to type this entry, I heard a quiet "pfffffft" sound. Sure enough, my dog let one loose. The cherry on top of a very long day. 

     This morning, I woke up not a minute after 6 AM to a screaming 1 year old who cried multiple times throughout the night due to nasal congestion. If I had a dollar for every time I couldn't breathe through my nose...

     After the congestion, came the whining. Constant. Whining. At the end of the day, I estimated she'd spent approximately 9 hours and 30 minutes pulling on my leg, producing alligator tears, and making a high-pitched noise that could have burst the ear drum of a small animal. I'd feel bad for her (and I admit I did at one point) except for that this girl was born with more drama than all nine seasons of Grey's Anatomy combined, so it's hard to take her seriously when she cries.  

     My husband came home to a grumpy wife and asked what he could do to help. I said "nothing" at first, then ultimately requested that he be on kid duty while I ate my dinner in peace.(Ding, ding!) I poured myself a stiff drink (does a Diet Dr. Pepper on the rocks count for anything?)and indulged in some hot wings made by yours truly. And no, the house did not burn down, thankyouverymuch. The smoke alarm even spared me its usual song. 

     I finished my delicious meal, washed my hands, felt like a new woman, and ripped through the many layers of Grinch to get to my ever-so-shrinking-in-size heart where lies my motherly nucleus. I rocked my baby to sleep (like a boss) and returned to the kitchen. One final plop onto a chair accompanied by a mental sigh and an eye itch, and I was viciously thrown back into my day of terror. The spice from my hot wings managed to somehow make its way into my eyeball, causing a burning sensation that only Hades would understand. And then the dog farted, remember? 

     I'd say "goodnight" and then put myself to bed here at 8:57 PM, but the little one is at it again with the coughing. Good thing I didn't make the same vows to my children as I made to my husband. "For better or for worse" is easy with the mister. But when my kids are "for worse", I begin to wonder where I can hide out for a day or two until the naughty/sick storm passes. Fiji, perhaps? 

Sincerely, 

Me.