Nerdy Mommy's Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day

In college, when my roommate was having a crappy day, she would pull out her copy of one of her favorite children's books: Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day; she would then sit at her desk and proceed to read the book aloud (whether or not anyone was in the room). When she was done, she would put the book back and finish whatever she was doing; simply reading the book aloud helped relieve her frustration enough to at least complete her current assignment.

In honor of that fine tradition, I wrote my own version after having a crappy day of my own...

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I went to bed and forgot to do the dishes, so this morning there's dirty dishes all over the countertops. When I got out of bed I stepped on a Hot Wheels car, then I spilled coffee on my new X-Men t-shirt. 

"Oh no, NOT my new X-Men shirt!!!!"

I could tell it was going to be a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

At breakfast, the toddler got mashed bananas in his mohawk, and the preschooler spilled yogurt down his shirt. 

I didn't even remember to eat breakfast.

I think I'll go away with The Doctor in the TARDIS. 

Because Weeping Angels are easier to handle than after-meal kid cleanup.

In the car, the preschooler kept saying he was hungry, and the toddler kept fussing for a toy. 
I said, "Here's a snack! Here's a toy!" 
Neither one even answered; they just kept complaining.

I could tell it was going to be a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

On Facebook, people liked my friend's photo of her newly renovated kitchen more than my picture of a funny Star Trek meme. 
The cupcakes I'm making for the bake sale are too lopsided and glumpy and don't look anything like the nice ones in the pictures online. Who cares about Pinterest anyway?

A few (million) more things to be insecure about.

I could tell it was going to be a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

I could tell because a family member told me I ought to be more strict with my kids, while another one told me I needed to loosen up. Someone else told me how I should incorporate more hands-on integrative techniques to enhance my children's overall development. 

They don't even have kids.

"I hope lots of complete strangers lecture you when you have kids of your own," I thought to myself. "I hope you spend tons of money getting lots of overpriced books and videos and toys specially designed to 'enhance your child's intellectual and physical development,' and I hope your kid ignores every single bit of it and plays with a stick instead."

Screw Baby Einstein; this can transform a kid into Gandalf or Harry Potter!

When it came time to make lunch, there was plenty of peanut butter and jelly in the pantry, and lots of cheese and lunchmeat in the fridge... but no bread and only half a cup of milk. 

Guess who forgot to go the grocery store the other day?

It was a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

It definitely was, because for once I was on time to the pediatrician's office for the toddler's checkup. The receptionist told me that my appointment was for tomorrow, not today. 
"You'll have to come back at the same time tomorrow," she said.

"Tomorrow," I said, "I'm transferring to the USS Enterprise."

Because nobody on the show has to schedule an appointment to see the doctor. Ever.

On the way from the doctor's office I got stuck in traffic. Our air conditioner doesn't work and it was really hot and the preschooler dropped his toy under my seat where I couldn't get it and the toddler kept crying because the sun was in his eyes and I started yelling at them both, "We're only five minutes away, I promise, so would you guys PLEASE JUST STOP CRYING ALREADY!!!"

On Facebook I updated my status: "I am having a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day." 

No one even commented.

"First the picture, now this. Do my friends even know I exist?!"

So then we went to the grocery store to get the stuff I forgot to get before. 
The preschooler wanted to get a cookie. The toddler tried to grab everything in arm's reach. I tried to get some chicken because it was on sale, but the manager said they were all sold out. I got a box of pasta and a jar of spaghetti sauce for dinner instead. If the kids don't like it, they don't have to eat it. 

When we got home, I told the preschooler to go to the bathroom, but he got distracted and had an accident. 
I told the toddler to stay away from the DVDs on the shelf; he didn't touch the DVDs at all, but instead grabbed a basket of my old NES games and dumped them all over the floor. 
I told the preschooler not to mess with the computer, but I think he bought tickets to ComicCon. 

I said: "That's it... I don't want to be the Mommy any more."

I'd rather be kicking ass in an awesome black PVC outfit. Can I please do that instead?

It was a Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day.

There was whining at dinner time and I hate whining.

There was fighting over a toy and I hate fighting.

At bathtime, the kids splashed water all over me and all over the floor, and the toddler ate some soap. 
I accidentally dropped a towel in the water when I was trying to get the kids out of the tub, and the preschooler asked me to read The Little Engine That Could. 

I hate The Little Engine That Could.

Pictured: torture

When it was bedtime, the preschooler couldn't find his favorite toy that he absolutely HAD to have to sleep with. The toddler wanted his special blanket, and I stubbed my toe trying to find that freaking blanket in the dark.

After I finally got everyone in bed, I went and poured myself a glass of wine. 

It had been a Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day.

Then I remembered the Daleks and Moriarty and Voldemort and Bowser and zombies and Magneto and the Borg and the Lannisters and I remembered that everyone has bad days.

Even in my favorite books, video games, and tv shows.






Photo credits: memebase.com; http://wikipedia.org; pintrest.com; hebanongames.com; wikipedia.org; memebase.com; theatlanticnerd.com; us.penguingroup.com

Interrogation Dining Room

A table with two chairs sits in the middle of a sparse room; a single light above illuminates a small circle of light directly in the center of the table. A young man enters the room and sits in a chair. A tall figure enters and stands across the table from him; the figure is mostly hidden in the shadow outside the circle of light, and has an imposing, slightly menacing air about them.

With a smooth motion, the Tall One pushes a plastic bowl into the middle of the table. "Time for supper!" a female voice says, sounding upbeat.

The young man pushes the bowl away. "No."

"But it's pasta!" the woman replies encouragingly. "You like pasta!"

"No. It's yucky. I don't like it."

The woman leans into the circle of light, putting her hands on the table, and says in a low voice, "How do you know it's yucky if you haven't even tasted it yet?"

"I've happily eaten pasta every other time you've made it, therefore it's now yucky and I hate it. DUH!"

 
Evading the logic of his opponent, the young man retorts, "I don't want it. I want a sandwich."

"We've been through this already. I made you a sandwich yesterday, and you pulled this exact same stunt. So, no. No sandwich."

The young man crosses his arms and leans back in the chair, indicating the unsavory dish with a toss of his chin. "You can't make me eat this; I know my rights. I want dessert."

The woman laughs and steps back, circling the table. "Oh no, that's not how this works. First you eat your supper, then you get dessert."

"I want dessert!"

"Supper."

In a burst of anger, the young man slams his hands on the table. "You can't do this to me! I'm hungry! I have rights, you know!"

"And getting dessert whenever you want it is not one of them." 

My mental image of a dinnertime show-down with my kid. I'm Batman, of course. I'm always Batman.

The young man's eyes narrow and his jaw sets in resolve. "I'm not going to give in to your demands. I don't have to eat this." He pushes his chair back. "I'm finished here."

The woman raises an eyebrow, then shrugs. "Fine, have it your way." She removes the bowl from the table.

There's a brief pause, then the young man says quietly, "May I please be excused?" 

The woman nods, and flicks a switch on the wall. Lights come on, revealing the surrounding dining room. Gesturing to the open doorway, she says simply, "Go." 

The young man quickly leaves, a triumphant smile on his face at having successfully escaped a potentially harrowing ordeal.

With a smirk, the woman enters the kitchen, unperturbed, because she knows he will eat it eventually. She puts a plastic lid on the bowl, writes the word Breakfast on it, and places the dish in the refrigerator.

He always eats it in the end. 





Image credits: thefeedingdoctor.com; rottentomatoes.com