Thoughts on a bad morning.

You know those mornings when you wake up and things just don't go as planned. I am warning you that there is not nice words in this post.

This morning I wanted so badly to make some cherry scones that I have a mix for from Christmas. I was just thinking a cherry scone and a cup of tea would make a perfect morning. Since there was a lot of laundry in our bedroom I picked up the hamper and carried it down stairs. I missed the stairs, and proceeded to fall down the stairs ( Let me add that this is time 4 of this pregnancy of stair falling antics for me). The hamper that I was carrying was somehow thrown behind me and landed squarely on my head rolled off and left a nice pair of Dave's boxers nestled in my hair. Screaming the curse words that were coming into my head would have been useless because I am home by myself. ( You know that cursing feels so much better when someone else can hear you). So instead I picked myself up and cleaned up the laundry mess ( checking that the baby was still moving in there and don't you worry Rudy is a trooper with mommies clumsy-ness). Deciding to forgo the next set of stairs I threw the laundry basket down the stairs into the basement... ha take that stairs. Back to the cherry scones.

As I turned around I see my sweet puppy looking at me and I knew this look right away. Boomer had shit in the house. His big brown eyes are a dead giveaway. When he's shit in the house it is written all over his stupid slobbery face. "Where is it you bastard" Is what I proceeded to say. Yes this is filthy language for a lady. I know. But this was a definite road block to the cherry scones. And no-body home or not some foul language was necessary. Scouring the house I walked down stairs ( gingerly) and saw that not only was there shit in the house but there was shit on my new carpet. Great. I cleaned up the shit and proceeded to beat my dog eh em scold my sweet puppy.

Washing my hands I turn around and realize that my loving husband never let the dogs out to potty this morning which is why their was shit in the house in the first place. (I could also blame the falling down the stairs on my loving husband because I had asked him to carry the laundry downstairs the night before but I surely wouldn't do such a thing). Since our backyard is a mudpit due to the foot of melting snow I decide it would be less hastle to take them out front on leashes to avoid muddy feet in the house. Smart. and this would allow for quicker cherry scone eating. Not so smart. As I open the front door to take Daisy out Boomer tramples past us and is gone. I mean gone. Running around the block gone. This eight month pregnant chick with a hankering for some damn cherry scones is not so happy. Deciding that no-one wants to see me running down the street in my robe chasing after my bastard dog whose goofy lips are flapping in the winds of freedom gets in my car and tails him. The lure of a "car ride" did the trick and again I beat my dog eh em scolded my sweet puppy.

Walking back in the door I decide that if this lady doesn't get a scone soon the world might end I thud into my kitchen pull out the mix and preheat the oven. Then in fine print I read " Must have 1 and 1/2 cups of heavy cream to add to mix". HEAVY CREAM????? Who has heavy cream just sitting in their fridge. GAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH. What must a girl go through to get a damn cherry scone?

Because I badmouthed my husband earlier in this post I am going to say that tomorrow I might just start off the day differently by using the massage package he bought for me. He is a great husband after all. And as for the rest of this day, I've already killed half of it telling who knows who about my bad morning and I've eaten half of a bag of cheetos. Not cherry scones but all the trans fats a prego can want.