Some days I wake up as Attila the Hun. I crack an angry eyelid as my temples pound and acid surges through my veins. Even my morning breath is fierce.
Usually this means two things have happened, in succession:
1. I went to bed too late. (After 11 equals too late. I'm almost 31, folks.)
2. Certain members of The Progeny thought it a swell idea to carry on and stampede about like buffalo just outside my bedroom door. Gazelle stampedes I can deal with. Cattle's pushing it. Upgrade to buffalo, and I'm The Scourge of God.
Luckily for the survival statistics of The Progeny, I know that at least half of the above equation is my fault. So I usually limit the Attilaness to a Eurasian glare in their general direction on my way to the shower.
Showers cure everything.
I get clean, yes, and shear off that underarm prickle and scrub the nappiness from my hair. Plus, showers persuade me into consciousness with a hot massage and deep breaths of soap-scented water vapor. But mostly, showers wash off all that attitude.
Goodbye Attila, hello Mother Teresa. Well, that might be exaggerating the case. Oprah, then.
So first on the thankful list: a hot shower. My kids don't realize it, but they're very thankful for this one too.
Stay tuned for more gratitude.
*If your week starts on Sunday, good for you. Mine started today.
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6 comments:
i believe in monday week beginnings, too.
as my sick 1 yr old went for a nap...i just ran a bubble bath for the cranky 2 yr old & the starting-to-get-fed-up-with-all-their-crying 4 yr old.
i then commenced my hot shower, watching them from the glass that separates us. it definitely did wash my attitude away. gratitude abounds!
now, our home is at peace again...for now. =)
Thank goodness for hot showers! I hear you on that!
Beautiful...I'm so having a hot shower before bed tonight.
Bwahahahah! We have so much in common, it's not funny.
I hope you get a longer shower than my water-restriction 3 minute ones. Kinda hard to wash the grumpiness out in that time.
I’m thankful that I only have one buffalo in the house. Unfortunately, that means I’m often recruited by said buffalo to be part of the stampede. And more often than not, I am reprimanded for not being buffalo enough by my son and “too damn noisy” by the wife. Oh, the line we dads straddle…
Wait, moms are supposed to shower?
Maybe that explains a lot around here...
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