Stress Makes Me Want To Eat My Face Off

I promised a friend a blog about what I'm planning on doing over the holidays. I'll get to it. As Joey says "I never give up on my promises."  She lies by the way, she keeps promising to put her dirty socks in the hamper, but I keep finding them on her floor. Liar.

No, right now, I am blogging in an effort to murder the Munchster, who is picking away at my gut, at my brain, at my very soul.  Why is the Munchster so strong this morning? Well, this is the first day I've had lots of significant stress since I've gone on protocol.  And, as it says in the title, stress makes me want to eat my face off. Or your face off. Whichever is more convenient, really.

Oh, Great Sharini, what could possibly be bad enough to move you from your zen like diet state to this raging lunatic who just checked the garbage to make sure her kids really ate their poptarts this morning?

There was normal morning stress. "Joey stop swinging from the top bunk and get your clothes on." "Kimmie, don't chase the dog with the broom, it is NOT a brush!" "Has anyone seen mommy's keys?"

And then, backing out of the driveway this morning, my daughter screamed my name. Or, well, her name for me. "MOMMY!" Quick, and sharp and loud. I jumped ten feet through the sunroof and my hand slipped off the wheel, and I hit the telephone pole across the street.

I decided to check the bumper when I got back from dropping her off at school, and was more than relieved to see NO DAMAGE.  Until I walked over to the side of the bumper that actually made contact with the telephone pole. Yeah, that wasn't so pretty. Cracked the corner of my bumper.

Balls.

Then I get an email from my bank, to let me know that I"m below the balance threshold I indicated in my account. Huh. By how much, I wonder. Well, by almost $200, apparently!  My bank decided this would be a great month to begin charging me a $15 service fee with no warning. So, I bounced a grand total of five tiny transactions. At thirty five bucks a pop. Yeah. So, that song I downloaded from Amazon the other day? No longer $0.99. Now it's $35.99. (It was Joey McIntyre singing "The Way You Look Tonight."  I kind of think that one is worth every penny. Don't judge me.)  The $3 box of epsom salts I picked up at CVS? Right, $38.

When I called my husband to tell him about the car, I was kind of ready for a bit of a tirade.  Instead he said "Is everyone okay?" I was like, "Yeah, everyone's okay. I was backing out of the driveway, not doing 70 on 287." And he was all "Well, that's what matters. We can fix the car."

When I sent him a text message about the bank snafu, he didn't respond. He may have hit his limit of understanding. Even SuperHusband has a limit, I suppose.

In addition to this, my computer doesn't have MS Office. Which is an ongoing problem, but one that's caused me stress the past couple of days. (Santa? A Mac? Please?)

Also? My house is a disaster. The baby's nose is running away from her face, she's still in her footie pajamas (albeit with a hat and scarf on, left over from our mad dash to get Joey to school), there are toys everywhere and boxes and boxes of Christmas all over the kitchen and dining room. Because I haven't finished decorating yet.  Also? Unopened boxes from UPS on the front porch. They contain presents for my kids and my kids are ALWAYS RIGHT HERE, so I can't open them. Besides, I'm too busy digging through the garbage for poptarts.

Munchster, I hate you, and you cannot defeat me! Not even on Christmas! (I promise, that blog's next.)