Why Are You So Cranky?
Ticks! Ticks on my children make me cranky.
My child who is exhibiting flu like symptoms and joint pain makes me cranky. As does bringing him for x-rays of his hips and legs and for a blood draw to see if he has Lyme disease. Or, as my imagination takes hold of me, something else even more sinister.
People who think that the crosswalk sign that says "yield to pedestrians" means they can step off the curb without looking and step in front of my van that is traveling 40 miles per hour and that I will slam my brakes on for them. I don't want to slam on my brakes. trust me, it is just a reflex reaction. If I could prevent my reflexes I would run you down.
It makes me cranky when my coffee cup flies out of the cup holder and spills everywhere and all my children's water bottles fly off of their seats and roll around on the floor.
Telemarketers who call my house make me cranky. Especially when they call me about giving to some organization that wants to fight sex and violence on television and in movies and then want me to listen to their lengthy spiel and answer questions, while they hit me up for donations. (for what? magic markers and posterboard to make signs and stand outside of studios? I ask) I am cranky enough from the sales pitch that when they ask "Do you think that our children are exposed to too much sex and violence in the media?" I will answer, "No, not at all. I'd like to see more sex and more violence. And both together would be great too! I don't think we can desensitize our children early enough. Thank you and goodbye."
Being lactose intolerant makes me cranky. Nothing would be better on a hot summer day than a big bowl of ice cream, smothered with hot fudge and maybe caramel, with real whipped cream on top. And maybe some sprinkles.
When my husband takes a long hot shower, despite the sweltering heat outside, and the bathroom becomes all hot and steamy and I am forced to sweat while I brush my teeth...yes, cranky!
The water that collects on the top of the upside down bowls and glasses in my the dishwasher, so that when I take them out to put them away water splashes all over the floor. And my kids step in it after they have walked around outside barefoot and make muddy footprints all over the kitchen floor. A WHITE kitchen floor. Yes, that makes me cranky!
Changing my baby's poopy diaper and at the precise moment when I have both his legs lifted up in the air, held by one hand, he flips over and is now being held almost upside down in the "wheelbarrow" position. And then he grabs the poopy diaper that I had set down near him and flings it. The resulting scene looks like something out of the Exorcist, except with poop.
But other than those things, I'm not cranky at all.
So stop asking me, because that makes me cranky.
My child who is exhibiting flu like symptoms and joint pain makes me cranky. As does bringing him for x-rays of his hips and legs and for a blood draw to see if he has Lyme disease. Or, as my imagination takes hold of me, something else even more sinister.
People who think that the crosswalk sign that says "yield to pedestrians" means they can step off the curb without looking and step in front of my van that is traveling 40 miles per hour and that I will slam my brakes on for them. I don't want to slam on my brakes. trust me, it is just a reflex reaction. If I could prevent my reflexes I would run you down.
It makes me cranky when my coffee cup flies out of the cup holder and spills everywhere and all my children's water bottles fly off of their seats and roll around on the floor.
Telemarketers who call my house make me cranky. Especially when they call me about giving to some organization that wants to fight sex and violence on television and in movies and then want me to listen to their lengthy spiel and answer questions, while they hit me up for donations. (for what? magic markers and posterboard to make signs and stand outside of studios? I ask) I am cranky enough from the sales pitch that when they ask "Do you think that our children are exposed to too much sex and violence in the media?" I will answer, "No, not at all. I'd like to see more sex and more violence. And both together would be great too! I don't think we can desensitize our children early enough. Thank you and goodbye."
Being lactose intolerant makes me cranky. Nothing would be better on a hot summer day than a big bowl of ice cream, smothered with hot fudge and maybe caramel, with real whipped cream on top. And maybe some sprinkles.
When my husband takes a long hot shower, despite the sweltering heat outside, and the bathroom becomes all hot and steamy and I am forced to sweat while I brush my teeth...yes, cranky!
The water that collects on the top of the upside down bowls and glasses in my the dishwasher, so that when I take them out to put them away water splashes all over the floor. And my kids step in it after they have walked around outside barefoot and make muddy footprints all over the kitchen floor. A WHITE kitchen floor. Yes, that makes me cranky!
Changing my baby's poopy diaper and at the precise moment when I have both his legs lifted up in the air, held by one hand, he flips over and is now being held almost upside down in the "wheelbarrow" position. And then he grabs the poopy diaper that I had set down near him and flings it. The resulting scene looks like something out of the Exorcist, except with poop.
But other than those things, I'm not cranky at all.
So stop asking me, because that makes me cranky.
6 Comments:
I agree, nothing is worse than someone asking "Why are you so cranky?" or "Mommy, are you grumpy today?"
Oh, man, I HATE all that! My water bottle flew across the car today when I had to slam on my brakes as an enormous tour bus made a left turn in front of me. GRRR.
I am in a cranky mood too. For various reasons and having my husband tell me that just because I'm in a bad mood is no reason to yell at him only makes it worse.
Where does he get off being all reasonable when I'm grumpy?
Not here, you're not cranky; you're a CRABASS. Yup. My lovely lipped children call us crabasses.
Now wherever did they get THAT from? :)
I'll tell you what they usually say to us, "sorry you're such a crabass". :)
LOL- I had to read the last one out loud to hubby. We've managed to keep our 10-mo from grabbing and flinging the diaper, but he's kicked or pushed it off the changing table from time to time. And gotten feet and legs and back all poopy. Oh- and my carpet. C'est la vie mama!
Poopy-diaper-fling? Oh yeah, I've been there. That's just so wrong!
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