When Your Week Has More Than One Monday

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My teenager has this saying, “I hate Mondays, and they hate me right back.” Yesterday was Monday, but on a Tuesday.

It was one of those days where you just want to crawl back in bed and pretend it never happened.

Before I tell you how yesterday kicked my tail, a little update on our “Forest Farm”: at this point we are more like a rabbit farm than anything else. We have two Flemish Giants, two adult Holland Lops, and four baby lops. We love our bunnies! My daughter is selling the babies to fund the ever increasing food costs of her rabbits, but I suspect she will hang on to at least one of them.

Bunnies are therapy around here. If my husband gets stressed out, he grabs a bunny. If the kids are in a bad mood, they hold bunnies. I love the baby bunnies so much, that I just want to rub them on my face for hours on end. Just watching them eat is almost more adorableness than I can handle.

I found the kids like this in our yard.

The goal is to purchase some goats to clear the wooded part of our land that is trying to close in on our house. A few weeks ago, I posted that we were about to do just that. However, a pig wandered up to the house and served as a giant distraction for that weekend. Yes, a pig.

My five year old came running in the house shrieking that he found a pig. I didn’t believe him at first, but when I went outside, sure enough, there was an adorable little pig running around the yard. Folks, we do not live in the country. We are five minutes from a major city. This makes free range pigs an oddity.

We fed Buddy (that is what my daughter named him) spaghetti and meatballs, and he was in hog heaven (hog heaven! hahahah!). We were pretty sure he was going to stick around for the long haul, but when we came home from church that Sunday, he had left us. I guess Buddy moved on to greener pastures.

Now we are up to our eyeballs in soccer and baseball, so the goats are on hold for a little bit. Until then, I am keeping myself busy (as if I needed help) with fixing things around the house. As I have mentioned before, we bought a fixer upper last year, so there is PLENTY of fixing to keep me busy.

All that brings me to yesterday. I woke up at 6am to start my shift, and my toddler immediately followed me downstairs and began raining screams down on my head every time I tried to triage a patient. This video wasn’t taken yesterday, but here is a small sample of her cry when she is hacked off. My son was kind enough to loop it over and over and over.

Needless to say, I’m dreading the day my manager does call reviews. I am required to have a “quiet office” with a locked door. Miss Shrieks a Lot knows how to unlock my door now, so I’m considering sound proof padding and a dead bolt.

After I made it through my shift with the screamer, I decided to make a cup of coffee, which I somehow knocked over and EXPLODED all over my kitchen. This was maybe four ounces of fluid, but it somehow covered all the white cabinets, inside the drawers, down into the pots and pans, under the cabinets, all over the wall, and pretty much any surface that is hard to clean. The icing on the cake was that I had already put full fat coconut cream in the coffee, so it made a huge greasy mess. I don’t have a photo of this particular moment because I lost my mind.  I think I may have gone into a fugue state.

I should have known better than to do what I did next, but I never know better. I always dive right in.

The house came with a massive water feature that was completely stagnant and full of frogs and mosquitos when we moved in. We paid a very large amount to have someone clean it out and replace the pump. It was totally worth it because it turned out to be a really pretty.

Well, that lasted about five minutes before the massive tank sprang an even more massive leak. The pond guy didn’t want to do the work on it, so he told me if he had to come out, it was going to cost “a lot”. We put off the work until spring, and here we are.

After working on it all week, my husband said he was done. He was ready to get a bulldozer after it. I however, am not easily defeated. This is me, prepared to take on the abomination that is our water feature. If I only knew what was going to happen next…

Before I go any further, I DID conquer the pond. I accomplished what I set out to do. It works, it looks pretty, and there are no leaks.

However (and I mean a big however), I didn’t take the instructions on the pond foam seriously enough. It said wear gloves. But who does that? Who actually wears gloves when something says to? Doesn’t every product have a warning about avoiding contact with skin?

I got just a little bit of foam on my hand, and I followed the instructions on the can to remove it with acetone. BIG MISTAKE. It multiplied like gremlins all over both of my hands, and then it cured. It actually cured to my skin. These photos were taken AFTER I picked off a ton of the foam.

The foam is thick and my hands feel miserable. I have tried all manner of chemicals and mechanical removal: even razor blades and steel wool.

Everywhere I go, people stare at my hands. The cashier at the grocery store actually flinched when I handed her my discount card. A few people have been brave enough to come right out and ask what in the world is on my hands. I found this hilarious thread that has been going strong for ten years. It made me feel a little better to know that others have fallen victim to the foam.

Those hands are the very definition of Monday (on a Tuesday), and it wasn’t just me either:

One of my close friends is director of a homeschool co-op and most of her teachers canceled at the last minute. Being the genius she is, she has all of them prepare a lesson and leave it at the building for events such as that. The problem? The lessons were missing. So she had several classes with no teacher and no back up lessons.

Then she got a call from home that one of her children (she has 11) pulled out his feeding tube. She ran home, managed to get it back in, and made it back to teach her class. I feel like foam hands are not quite as bad as having to place a feeding tube in the middle of an already insane morning.

Sometimes, we just have to laugh together and offer some emotional support. Otherwise, all of us moms would flee to a remote island and never look back.

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