Bless Me Bloggy

I have sinned, its been eleven days since my last confession.

And I probably have stuff to confess, like how people's faces have been annoying me lately.

I haven't decided who to blame for this phenomenon; pinterest for planting this image in my brain and allowing me to pin it forevermore; or Early Onset Winter and Greyness; or people's faces. It's a toss up.

Regardless, its largely the faces of people who I love which annoy me, and this complicates things. The dog keeps looking at me like I"m about to do something amazing, the husband lets words out of his face that reduce me to the emotional maturity of a gnat, and then there are the children. Lovely people, really. But yesterday one small person chiselled a groove into the drywall (how do they manage these things?!) and another smallish child urinated on a vintage chair that I quite like(d) the way it was. Without eau de yucka-pee. After that their faces pretty much annoyed me, so I had to concentrate on a tiny imaginary dot just behind their heads so that my annoyance would reamain invisible to the naked eye. I think it worked, but repressing my true feelings is clearly worthy of a full confession.

In other news, I had to call a sick day this week. I've never had to do that in the past nine or so years of doing dayhome care for tinies. I've always managed to pull myself together to some sort of degree that I fake it through my workday and not have to make those early morning phone calls that I know I wouldn't want to receive if I were the parent of the wee one. However, with absolutely no warning, I was awakened at 4 AM on Monday morning with a yak stuck in my throat. It reappeared at 5:45 when my alarm went off, and the floor kept drifting up to where the ceiling should be so I knew it wasn't going to be an awesome day for potty training. I like how kind everyone was when I phoned them at a ridiculous hour to say "no go". Really kind. I work with some of the nicest people in the world. The nicest. Not only do they trust me with their kids (a super big deal), but they pay me for being sick without me asking. That's kind of Jesus-y in my opinion.

(While I type this, the dog sits just to my left and STARES at me. Full of expectation. Do you know how annoying this is.)

I have more things to complain about, but they involve infringing on people's privacy and I'm too irritable to deal with all that. Besides, that would entail more confessions and I'm not actually Catholic. I'm sort of Mennonite, and we don't even have release of cubicle confessions. We just kind of walk around chronically feeling guilty for having been born, taking up space, emitting odours, breathing in and out.

Forgive me.

 

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