I put myself in time out this week.
If there were an episode of Mom's Behaving Badly, I'd have been on it.
Sometimes I'm not proud of my behavior. Sometimes I yell more than I'd like to. I'll admit it. I strive to have more patience when my house turns into a loony bin, but still. There are just those days. The pile-up. The "when it rains it pours" days.
And then when one of those days is happening, like for instance, I'm in the middle of a migraine, none of my electronics are working, a note is sent home about less than stellar behavior from my kids at school, there is but one thing that will send me over the edge every time.
Cat poop.
Because cat poop only happens on those days that all those other things are happening.
Never once do I come home from an awesome run, slow motion running and hugs from the kids telling me how awesome I am, putting flowers in water and turning around to spot the little nuggets in the corner.
Nope.
Not once is it on the day we come home from the park, tiny siblings hand in hand and laughing and frolicking nicely saying kind words to one another to find a surprise waiting for me on the couch.
Nope.
It only ever happens on the day when it is sure to send me flying off the cliff. A "Terrible Day Sundae" topped with cat poop in my bed.
I mean really, cat. Does my house just look like one giant litter box to you? Or do you see my eyebrows doing that thing that they do and decide you're going to find a great place to squat that's really going to piss me off.
Because the cat poo isn't coincidence. I'm sure of it.
It's strategic.
I can almost even picture him sitting in the corner rubbing his whiskers like they are his evil mustache, head back in that terrible cackling laugh.
Why! Why, I ask you!
Why does cat poop only happen at the worst time ever?
It's my question to the universe.
Anyway, my personal time out is almost over. But it's been nice to have been on a bit of a techno-hiatus, if even for a few hours. I'm refreshed. Which means there must not be any cat poo in the forecast. Of course the percentages could change by the end of the week.
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Of course, just a short time later, when he was paroled, he climbed on top of the fake ficus, which slowly began to bend under kitty cat weight, down to the left, slowly, down, down, down, down until, crash.
Bigfatbooger. Gets me every time.
