Yesterday was a good day. I thought it was a bad day when I nearly passed out from exhaustion at 9:30 that evening. I thought it was a bad day when my great idea to have the natives pick strawberries resulted in me spending several hours washing, hulling, and freezing berries. (I forgot the natives are efficient pickers now.) I thought it was a bad day when there were actual injuries related to the number of toys left out around the island.
I would kiss yesterday if it came back for me now. Today can only be described as a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.*
One of the feline inhabitants of the island simultaneously threw up on my both my family calendar and my breadmaker. When I find out which cat did it, he had better hope he can swim.
I tracked motor oil on the carpet. I don’t own motor oil, aside from in my car’s engine. I was not walking in my car’s engine. 90% of my house has hard floors. There is no motor oil on the hard floors.
Medium and Small Natives fought over feeding the felines and spilled cat food all over the floor. Our felines eat the most expensive cat food you can buy**, so I had to pick up each tiny piece by hand. (**Not an exaggeration. I have researched it.)
I struggled for a full hour to get the natives to stop fighting and get ready to leave the house for the Teddy Bear picnic downtown. I had to stop working on the food I was preparing and stuff the dough in the fridge in order to manage the natives. After a peaceful hour of snacks, teddy bears, and songs, I was rewarded by pushing, shoving, and tantrums at the car while trying to get home. Also I forgot to put my dough in the fridge, so it over-raised.
I tried to listen to music in order to calm myself. The battery on my music-player died.
I finally returned the harassing calls we have been getting from a 1-800 number, only to discover that our home insurance payment is overdue, and our policy will be cancelled in two days. It is supposed to be on autopay. When I went online to pay it, the bill said it was due June 10, but the home page said it was due July 30. I hope my insurance agent can swim.
And my blog keeps randomly highlighting passages. I can't make it stop.
The chances of me surviving until tomorrow are not good.
*(Are you familiar with Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day? If not, you should be. Best kids’ book ever. Some days I think it was written for me.)
Once again I find myself marooned on the island while my hubby is airlifted out. There are three natives in my care, each larger than (s)he was during the last island competition. Will this work in my favor, or contribute to a quicker demise? Time will tell.
First challenge: Acquire milk to sustain the natives. Since my sister* is not here to milk a cow for us, I am forced to forage. We acquire a small wagon. I am to pull all three natives a distance of approximately five blocks in said wagon. After a distance of five feet, I concede defeat. Collectively, the natives weigh significantly more than me. (“Significantly” is subjective, but I stand by my claim.) Large Native exits the wagon, and we are able to locate the milk. However, Medium Native, Small Native, four gallons of milk, and a jug of honey in a wagon must also weigh more than me, for I can barely pull them back to base camp. I consider throwing supplies over the side to lighten the load, but fear that would cost me the challenge.
Exhausted from the foraging, I begin food preparation. During my last stay on the island, I suspected that Small Native was a saboteur familiar with advanced technology. Now I suspect that he may actually be a cleverly disguised machine. He experiences what can only be described as a system overload. It is clear he needs a reboot. Unable to find a button for that, I am forced to cage him in another area of the island for his own safety until food is ready.
Finally food is distributed. Perhaps I have waited too long for sustenance, as the table in front of me blurs and instead of human natives I see a large Whac-A-Mole game, with the natives’ heads popping up and down, shouting demands faster than I can process:
POP – I want more milk!
POP – I want more grapes!
POP – He got more grapes than me!
POP - I don’t like mayonnaise on my bread.
POP – I want more grapes!
POP - I don’t have my knees up.
POP – I’m still thirsty.
POP – I want more grapes!
POP - I miss Daddy already.
POP - I want more grapes!
POP – Are we having dessert?
POP – Are we having dessert?
POP – Are we having dessert?
As the heads pop up and down faster and faster, repeating the same words over and over, my head spins. I can no longer focus. I am sure it is all a dream. But where is my mallet? I am brought rudely back to reality by a sippy cup in the arm.
POP – Cup in your arm! Ha ha ha!
What else will this adventure hold? The rest of the evening was relatively uneventful. Nonetheless, I have an unsettling feeling that “Return” in the title of a sequel never bodes well…
*My talented sister won 2nd place in the milking contest at the Sullivan County, Pennsylvania dairy event the other weekend! I would tell you to look it up for yourself if Sullivan County were large enough for an online presence, but instead you will have to take my word for it.
