Don’t Cry Over Spilt Milk

Imagine — in slow motion, if you will — a crazed 37-year-old woman, her face contorted in frustration as she utters a guttural war cry and heaves a cracked and gushing 4L milk jug out the back door of her house…

Who is this woman?

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Doesn’t it feel, at least some days, that the world is out to get you?

I was feeling okay this morning. Not great, but okay. 

I woke early and took a shower first thing. I hate showers, so I was pretty proud of myself.

I drank coffee, which somewhat eased the tension headache I felt coming on. 

I home-learned with the kids (thanks a lot, Covid). A fairly saintly job.

CIMA (COVID-Induced Market Anxiety)

Then, at 9:45 a.m., I hopped in the truck to brave a trip to Superstore. Naturally, I was nervous, having recently been self-diagnosed with CIMA (COVID-Induced Market Anxiety). Ever since the toilet paper hoarders crawled out of the woodwork, my silly brain associates grocery shopping with unpleasantries such as uncertainty, confusion, masked strangers, and a foreboding sense that we’re living in a dystopia.

However, I was in for a little surprise…

Dino-Angel

Within two minutes of entering the supermarket, I met a large, tan-coloured, inflatable dinosaur.

The dinosaur, pushing its own cart loaded with items, greeted me with a friendly wave and a giggle as it waddled past.

I can only assume that the person occupying the costume was either:

1. an angel of light, come to cheer anxious shoppers such as me; or
2. someone who couldn’t get a hold of a real hazmat suit.

And although my head continued to throb while I shopped, the dino-angel made me smile.

Maniacal

Two hours later, I arrived home with a truck full of groceries and a doozy of a headache. I was tired, hungry, and dreaded putting the groceries away.

Don’t you hate putting the groceries away?

I hauled bags from the back of the truck and set them down on the mudroom floor inside the house.

On my fifth load, I carried a 4L plastic milk jug. Hoping to save myself a few steps, I skipped the mudroom floor and, instead, reached up and around the corner, and plunked the jug on the stairs leading to the kitchen.

As I turned to grab another load, I heard a – BANG! – followed by the sound of gurgling.

Maniacally, I lunged for the jug, which was now gushing milk through a ginormous crack that ran from lid to bottom. My only thought was to MAKE IT STOP!

I think you know what happened next: I hucked the jug out the door. It landed – SPLAT! – on the garden patio. Six dollars of freshly purchased dairy product, now muddled with dirt, flowed freely into the grass.

Cry Me a River

Inside, I chucked shoes and jackets – all willy-nilly – across the mudroom so that I could yank the area rug away from the milk that was now dripping down the kitchen steps and pooling on the mudroom floor.

I growled and stomped and cried.

Until I heard another unwelcome sound: the steady dribble of a milk-fall flowing through the cracks of our poorly-built, 80-year-old, wooden steps, and down to the dusty cellar below.

“I’m going to be cleaning this up for an hour!” I shrieked.

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WHY???????????

I am seriously trying to take one day at a time.

I am seriously trying to embrace the sudden changes that have overtaken our lives.

I am seriously trying to STAY POSITIVE, for goodness sake!

Yet, some days, it just feels like the world is out to get me. I know it’s not but it feels like it. And,

Sometimes, you just have to throw your frustrations sky high, then melt to the floor and have a good cry.

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Don’t cry over spilt milk?

Whatever…

What’s the moral of the story?

Even though motherhood is a never-ending character growth Bootcamp, there are days when my character gets the boot. And that’s okay.

With love (even if I’m losing it today),