Wanted: one "Get-out-of Crankville" card

I'm in Crankville this week. You know Crankville, don't you? The place where patience took a turn, and left you to plunging on towards a big ol'pile of . . . oh, I don't know what. The place where everything said to you by another living person makes you angry. The place where the sight of even a beautiful flower might frustrate you - because you know even the beautiful flower has a problem and needs something from you. Crankville is . . . awful.

The other day, I made Ella cry. I know. I KNOW. I am not proud, not for one second, of that. I was frustrated and trying to get dinner on the table. Ella wanted to help. I was making a caprese salad, Ella wanted to wash the basil. I asked her not to grab the basil, because I didn't want it all washed. She grabbed all of it and proceeded to dump it in a soapy sink. I was frustrated and angry. Really. I moved her off of her stool, and tried to reach into the soapy sink to find the basil between the soap suds, muttering, "I just need to go for a walk and get out of here for a while" under my breath. Ella heard me, and immediately started to cry. "NO, Mommy. I don't want you to go. You are my Mommy." I knelt down and hugged her for a long time. I cried. Then she looked at me like I was crazy. No, I'm not crazy. I'm just in Crankville.

I hate Crankville.

Last night, I cried after PG laughed at something I said (that was not meant to be funny). I cried. I know, after hearing myself say what I said, that it probably sounded funny to him. But, I didn't mean for it to be. I was serious. He laughed. And I cried. You know when you sometimes feel like your spirit is just being crushed? I felt that way. I feel bad about what happened. He feels worse. Now we are both kind of in Crankville.

Augh, I hate Crankville.

Today, I told the girls I had to use the bathroom and I would be right back. I went up to our master bath, and within SECONDS both girls were fighting and screaming at one another. I SCREAMED for both of them to STOP, and sat there thinking, "I am 38 years old. I can't even go to the bathroom in peace. This is not fun." I quickly came out to find them fighting over a plastic toy cash register. Ella had big crocodile tears, and Katie was pouting. I was angry. Yes, Crankville.

I really hate Crankville.

Mother's Day is just days away. And all I really want is quiet. So, tonight I am going to put the Ipod on REAL LOUD, and listen to my meditation CD that Kiki sent me months back. And I'm going to try and catch the next train out of Crankville. Because, I hate to be blunt, but Crankville kinda sucks. (Original "Get out of Jail Free" card - Hasbro, Inc - circa 1935.)