Today Sucks

It is said that "everyday is a new day".  The truth to that statement is obvious; although it seems that my days start out as new, then take a sharp and unavoidable nose-dive into suckiness.  This is usually due to the fact that my first task of the day is to get my five-year-old dressed.  Le sigh.  Thirty minutes later (and after I've started crying), there is a pair of dirty underwear on the couch, soggy brown socks on the living room floor and a half-tube of Spiderman toothpaste smeared around the bowl of the sink.  If I'm lucky, my son will be ready to leave for school at this point, and then we can begin the arduous 20-mile drive as he chatters non-stop in the back seat.  Our conversation will most certainly start by him asking a question and then not be satisfied by my answer; after all, he is the all-knowing second coming of Christ.

We finally get to school and I see that all of the other mothers had the energy to actually brush their hair and put on clothes.  This reminds me of my general inadequacy, and then I suddenly feel guilty that my son will have to experience life without a perfect parent.  And, alas!  Now my day sucks.  I could resolve to have a productive day at work in an effort to boost my self-esteem.  But, somehow, I feel inclined to do something that actually makes me feel better, like bitch about my mother-in-law.

My mother-in-law.  For the sole purpose of my selfish enjoyment, we'll call her "Margaret", because it is the name of the mother from the movie Carrie.  I'll take you back to the week that Margaret stayed with us following the birth of our son.  I've tried valiantly to repress the memories of her repeated attempts to feed my newborn bottles of water ("because he's THIRSTY!") or apply chapstick to his day-old lips or even how she insisted on mixing in yogurt with his bottles of breast milk.  Nevermind the fact that she "accidentally" let our dog run out of the front door and failed to bring it to our attention for a full five minutes.  No, the real nail in the (unfortunately) proverbial coffin was the following dialogue:

Margaret (holding baby, looking demonically lovingly into his eyes): Sweet baby!  Your father will teach you everything about life...  how to build things and how to create things with your hands!!  And your mother will teach you...  Well, she'll teach you all of the wily ways of women!

Just in case you're wondering; wily, adjective: skilled at gaining an advantage, especially deceitfully.  Yep, that crazy bitch took a dig at me, in front of me, to my newborn son!!  I distantly remember my husband shooing me out of the room as I tried to recall the exact application of the Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique.  Maybe he saw me flexing my palm in anticipation, maybe he just sensed that we were on the verge of an apocalyptic breakdown.  Either way, he appropriately removed me from her evil realm and reminded me that they don't give you Chardonnay on Death Row.  I hate it when he's right.