It never fails. Once I decide I’m going to do something positive in my life, things start going horribly wrong. Save money? A forgotten debt from 1998 suddenly resurfaces. Go to Bible Study? Car tires go flat. Go on a diet? Thanksgiving and Christmas roll around. Start walking? It rains for two weeks straight. Quit smoking? The house burns down and the stress rate goes through the roof (if I had one.)
None of these things are permanent. They are simply roadblocks thrown up just long enough for me to lose my resolve and think encouraging thoughts like, “What’s the point? I’ll always be broke, spiritually lacking, fat, and gasping for breath.”
Who or what is responsible? Bad luck? Fate? Murphy’s Law? Brownies? (Creature, not yummy chocolate heaven, though that would fit in with the losing weight issue.) The Devil? (My personal belief.) Or this guy?
Either way, when I made an official declaration last week to get my house in order, I expected some interference. I had no idea.
Monday. The number one goal was to have stress-free mornings with no yelling. The laying out of things the night before went well. Aside from a hidden shoe, that wasn’t a problem. The problem was a faulty awaking apparatus, i.e. my cell phone. Monday morning it didn’t go off. Rather, it went off, but it was set to silent. Luckily, DH gets up at 6:45 (5 minutes before scheduled departure) and woke me up. I was waking children, making coffee (absolute necessity, no matter how late), fixing bowls of cereal, changing a diaper, and corralling everyone into the car–all while trying NOT to yell. I succeeded, for the most part. We left at 7:15. The middle schoolers were late and I made it in to work with seconds to spare.
Tuesday. Alarm goes off, after checking it wasn’t on silent the night before, only this time I don’t hear it until it’s well into the snooze cycle. Still better than Monday–we had 15 minutes before departure.) I didn’t yell at the kids. I waited until they were in the car and yelled at DH, who hadn’t done anything wrong. But them’s the breaks when you’re married to me. The middle schoolers were late. Again. Tardy #2 in week 2, with 5 tardies resulting in ISS (in-school suspension.) My kids were not happy. This time I’m 5 minutes late for work. I was not happy. But it was a relaxing day at the beach compared to my afternoon.
While waiting in the car line at the primary school, my foot slipped off the brake. My land yacht lurched forward, hitting the car in front of me–the brand new 2012 Hyundai Elantra the driver had owned for exactly one month. The damage was light. My front license plate screws left two small dimples in the bumper. I thought it added character. Who doesn’t love dimples? Apparently, the owner of said Hyundai Elantra.
I spent 3o minutes on the phone with my insurance company (who I’ve only been with for 6 months. Can you say rate hike?) while all the other moms drove by and stared. I picked up my daughter, who was waiting with the secretary who had to wait for me before she could leave. Now I’m starting to ruin other people’s days.
Wednesday. We get out of the house (no yelling) on time. Everybody gets to school and work with time to spare. The ride home is uneventful, aside from the fact I’m praying I don’t see the dimpled Hyundai in the car line. I don’t. Is the curse over? Come on, now. This is me we’re talking about. We leave for church (35 minutes away) for our monthly supper (yum) and to pick up a working refrigerator. Did I forget to mention our 2nd fridge of the week wasn’t working? We got to church–late, of course–and there was no food left for the FIRST TIME EVER in the HISTORY of Wednesday Night Suppers. Wasted time. Wasted gas. But we did get the fridge…and it doesn’t work right, either. But hey, who needs completely frozen ice?
Thursday. We leave early. Work is good. Then, in my exhausted state, I go the wrong way on the Interstate on the way home. No biggie. I just get off at the next exit–12 FREAKIN’ MILES down the road! By the time I get back to the point I got on the interstate, we would’ve been home. When I get to my exit, I get stuck by a train for 15 minutes. I spent almost 4 HOURS in my car on Thursday.
Friday. Everything goes according to plan. Surely, this is the end of my trials?
Saturday. The day I vowed to go nowhere and do nothing. A little trip to the Wal-Mart surely wouldn’t be a big deal? The plan was to meet DH at the Wal-Mart and get some much-needed shopping done. I went to the Wal-Mart and waited. And waited. Annoyed, I called DH. Turns out, I was waiting at the WRONG Wal-Mart. Grumbling, I got in the car and went to meet DH. We met and there was a problem. It’s too convoluted to explain, but it has to do with a weirdly written check from our Electric Company–a donation after our house fire. Long story short, it was a no-go (3rd attempt, mind you) and we left, empty-handed and vowing never to return to Wal-Mart again. Suuure.
After that ordeal, I was dying of thirst. So I stopped off at a gas station that has the cherry flavoring you can add to diet coke (yummy). And, wouldn’t you know it? They were out. So I bought the darn diet coke, sans cherry goodness, and trudged home, royally ticked off and biting my tongue.
Sunday. We were up, fed, dressed, and in the car on time this morning. Then we got stuck behind a train and were 15 minutes late for church. Now I’m in my pajamas, foregoing the Sunday nap tradition (what if I overslept?!), and wondering what’s in store for the return trip to church for Children’s Choir tonight. What else does The Devil have in store for me?
Whatever it is, I don’t care. Because you know what? I’m not thinking, “What’s the point?” I’m thinking, “Bring it.” This woman has had enough cowering, settling, and resigning. This time, I’m not going to let a few
thousand set-backs distract me from my goals. I can do this. I am doing this.
The Devil can go to Hell.