this week was FAIL week

Warning: TMI. TMI. TMI. I am not kidding. TMI.

I should have known Wednesday wasn't going to be good when, first thing in the morning, I accidentally dropped my Diva Cup into the toilet.

But I recovered from that, made coffee, and then decided I was going to make this awesome potato omelet, so I broke out my ceramic bladed mandoline.

Hm, I thought to myself, That potato is awfully bulky and awkwardly shaped. I'll just run it over the blade with my bare hand until it's small enough to use the safety grip.


Everything is still attached, but I have my thumb shmeared with Neosporin and wrapped up in bandaging tape. I'm confident the cuts will heal well with time.

Have you ever been without the use of your dominant thumb? My world has become unnavigable. It is unexpectedly difficult to do things like crack an egg into a bowl or wash one's kids' hair or type a blog post or...

...mess about with one's feminine hygiene product. I love my Diva Cup, but there's knack to the thing, a knack I do not have with my left hand. So things aren't situated as securely as they could be. Yesterday morning as I was getting off the potty, I sneezed.

"CHOO!" said I.

Whizzz PLOP! went the Diva Cup.

I wish, wish, wish I was making that up.

Today, what with the jitters from fear of leakage and frustration from not being able to clean my house-- as fate would have it, I was in the midst of one of my rare cleaning streaks when the potato slicing FAIL happened-- I was pretty darn grumpy. I started the day by snapping at my half-asleep husband for snapping at one of the kids. Wife FAIL.

There was a sort of a win with the homemade cinnamon rolls I made for the kids and hubs, but then I ate four of them, so fasting FAIL and diet FAIL-- it was a twofer! And naturally that made me feel EVEN BETTER about myself.

And THEN I snapped at the kids in exactly the way I had castigated the hubs for earlier, only I did it ten times worse. Mom FAIL. Consistency FAIL.

By nap time, I really really really really really needed a break. Marky went down very easily, but Colin tossed and turned and sat up and played and told himself stories and had to use the bathroom and wanted to tell himself more stories and didn't want covers even though his room was freezing and finally capped the performance by digging a piece of poo out of his bottom and trying to hand it to me.

"Colin," I asked in groggy alarm, "What is that?"

"It's a germ, Mom. Take it, take it."

So I marched him downstairs for a hand washing. On the way back, I instructed him to leave downstairs a small toy with which he had been playing while in bed.

"Nooo!" he yelled, and headed up the stairs with it. I grabbed him and yanked him back.

"Yes!" I said, in Very Firm Tones, "You WILL obey me." He plunked down on his bottom and began to wail.

And then, I heard it. More wailing, this from the baby monitor. Marky had been awakened by the ruckus. My chance for a break was gone.


In a rage I punched the nearest object, a rocking easy chair.

Have you ever been REALLY MAD and punched something bouncy? It's like tried to slap down a Weeble. It is the opposite of cathartic.

Boingy! went the chair.

Boingy! Boingy! Boingy!

"GRRRRRRRGGRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!" I said. Through a red miasma, my gaze fell upon a child-sized basketball in the kitchen floor. I seized it and hurled it at the linoleum with all the force I could muster.

The ball was not inflated very well. Thrummp, said the ball, and then, pfwoo.

"NNNGGGGGGRRRNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGG" I shrieked, through clenched teeth. With no other alternative before me, I pulled back, aimed my besocked toes at the wall in front of me, and kicked.

And my foot went through the drywall.

Homeowner FAIL!

Catharsis success.


Veronica Mitchell said...

I have never kicked the wall. This is not an assertion of virtue, but practicality; our house is 100 years old and the walls are plaster over brick. There is nothing cathartic about foot surgery.

Peter said...

These are the weeks I begin to understand why I inherited five gallons of whiskey from my late lamented great aunt.

happygeek said...

Gotta love a FAIL week.

Yet I call this to mind and therefore I have hope:
Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning, great is your faithfulness.
Lamentations 21-23.

Gotta love an unfailing God.

Recovering Sociopath said...

And it's from Lamentations, even! Thank you. I am noting that one.

Kimberly said...


Do you need a patch and some drywall mud?

Incidentally, I figured since you had posted this for all the world to see that I could have the hubs read it.

He chuckled and shook his head and said "what's a diva cup"? I said to never mind. He thought it was some kind of gourmet coffee cup. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Kim Pospisil said...

We have an amazing God, don't we? That he would use broken dirty pots of clay to hold his water still amazes me. Our weaknesses are ever present and in vain we try to cover them up despite his x-ray vision. And then, his coming to die for our stubborn, stupid, dirty, and decrepit humanness only dumbfounds me more. Will we ever understand his deep love for us? Though we fail him continually he loves us without demand or stipulation constantly.

Let that refresh your spirit and cause your heart to sing with angels and announce his greatness as heavenly trumpets do.

jculver said...

Epic. That was friggin hilarious. I'm passing it along to the mother of my three little cherubs.

Zanshin said...

Hope your thumb feels better! When you get the materials and decide on a patching technique for the wall, I'm happy to come over and help fix the wall or watch the kids.

Hairline Fracture said...

I hope this week is much better for you!

Beck said...

Because - TMI TMI TMI - of certain anatomical abnormalities, diva cups aren't an option for me. And reading this post, I am now SO VERY, VERY GLAD.

Like Veronica, my house is plaster over... I don't know what. Not brick. Horse hair? I don't hit walls mainly because I fear hurting myself.

Mary-LUE said...

It was a FAIL week, wasn't it? It brought back memories for me of my many FAIL weeks when the husband was traveling and the kids were little. (I still have a rectangle-shaped divet (sp?) on my living room wall to show for it (from the leg of the small wooden doll bed I threw across the room-not AT anybody).

And I can tell you that, while you still will have FAIL weeks occasionally, the nature of them changes as the kids get older. No poo. No one woken up by the ruckus. That's something to look forward to... I think.

Great choice of scripture from happygeek. I think I needed that one myself today.