Waving the White Flag: A/K/A Getting Your Ass Kicked by a Six Year Old

I can't be the only single mother who has bad days.  I mean, heinously bad days.  Days where you want to sell the child to the gypsies and spend the money on a trip to Hawaii. 

(Shit, did I just say that?)

I know there are a number of factors at play here.  And, I am going to guess there was a full moon over the weekend.  If there wasn't, just keep that to yourself.  It's MY story and I'm going with full moon. 

Friday night I was buried in boxes, packing things up and getting ready for the move.  Which means my house looked like it had been vandalized.  Of course, this activity did not jive with the six year old's planned evening of cartoon and cuddle time, which I kept putting off for just "five more minutes" or just "one more box, honey" because I was running on borrowed energy, having been up since 5:30 a.m. and already worked a full day.  I just wanted to get things done, ready for the next day.  It was chaos.  When I did finally stop and take her to bed for cuddle time, she passed out about two seconds before I did.  We didn't do the regular reading time before bed or any of that.  We just crashed and burned.  Way to bond with the kid, Mom.  Good job.

I was also dealing with a 13 year old boy who was completely losing his mind over the fact he had a band ensemble performance the next morning.  His first one and he was freaking the hell out.  And when he is stressed about something, it is as if he is the only person in the history of ever who has had so much stress and it is the most important thing in the entire universe and requires immediate attention. 

*Barges in while I am putting his sister to bed*

"Mom, did you iron my clothes, I have to look nice for the performance tomorrow"

(yawning) "Honey, hang them up in my room. I set my alarm and I will get up early and iron them for you."

"Okay, what time are you planning to get up?  We need to get there early for warm up.  I have to warm up before we play."

"I know.  Your sister has done these things about a half dozen times.  It's not my first ride in the rodeo."

"We need to leave at 9.  I have to be there about an hour before we play."

(No he doesn't)

"We will get there in plenty of time, I promise.  Now get a shower and go to bed so you are rested in the morning." (So mom can get some damn sleep)

(Geezus)

Meanwhile, my teenage daughter was busily texting her boyfriend, who just graduated from school that afternoon and is moving about a half hour away and they are both very melancholy about it.  I attempted to make conversation with her about that before I went to bed, but honestly, she probably got the short end of the stick that night.  I wanted to sympathize with her because I know when you are a teenager and your boyfriend leaves it is the most horrible thing ever, but I was exhausted to the point of not making any sense.  I think I may have patted her shoulder (it may have been the cat, I really have no idea) and said "It'll be fine, honey, I promise" and then walked into a wall on my way back to bed.

Sorry kids.  I am only one person.  You each have different needs and I am failing miserably at meeting any of them, much less all of them.

(Yeah.  It was one of THOSE weekends.)

I didn't sleep very well.  I woke up often during the night.  It happens sometimes.  Then, Saturday morning I continued the pattern, waking up at 4:00am, then 5:00am, then 5:20am and then 6:00am.  And finally, my alarm went off at 7:00a.m.  I was almost glad it finally went off so I had a reason to get out of that good for nothing asshole bed of mine.  My body, however, wasn't done sleeping.  It was going to be a long ass day.

I showered, got the boy up, ironed his clothes, put on something presentable and then woke up the teenager to let her know where her sister's dance clothes were because her father was going to pick her up for ballet class in about an hour (since they haven't perfected cloning technology and her dance class is at the same time as her brother's band performance, an hour away).  I threw some coffee in the general direction of my face and headed out.

Got though the performance.  He did well but they only got a 2nd division rating instead of 1st division so he was ticked off the whole way home. 

"We should've gotten a 1st Division rating."

"I told Mr. P I didn't want to do this anyway."

"Why did he sign me up for this?"

There, there, son.  There, there.

Came home and moved some truckloads of crap to storage.  Hoping some of it would blow out of the car on my way there so I didn't have to unload it.

Sent the 6 year old and the 13 year old off to their friends' houses for the evening for sleepovers. 

Spent the evening relaxing with the eldest teenager and watching movies and bonding and stuff.  That was the highlight of my weekend.  It was all downhill from there.

Sunday, I did NOT wake up until 11:00 a.m.  Well, I woke up briefly at 8:00 a.m., took some pain relief medication for my screaming back, and collapsed back into bed.  THEN, I woke up suddenly and looked at the clock and it said ELEVEN. OH.  FIVE.   Holy shit.  And the reason I woke up then was because my daughter had called to tell me she was getting dropped off soon. 

You'd think I would be well rested and ready to take on the day, right?  Oh my gods.  Not even close. 

The 6 year old came home with an ATTITUDE from HELL.  Precipitated by the fact that her friend had the nerve to go to her cousin's birthday party at Chuck E Cheese and not invite my child.  It took me a half hour to explain to my daughter why she couldn't crash another kid's party.  She was NOT having any of that. 

(Why did the other child have to rub it in her face that she was going to Chuck E Cheese?  Why not just tell my kid Santa is going to skip our house this year?  Thanks, kid.  PS:  Paybacks are a BITCH.  Yeah, I just tough-talked a 6 year old in my head.) 

My darling angel then spent the entire day jumping up and down on my last nerve.  Actually, my nerves were shot.  She was jumping up and down on my nerve ending.  The last one. 

She didn't want to eat anything I offered her. She didn't want to do any of the activities I suggested.  She certainly didn't want to help with anything or put any of her shit away.  She DID want to have a tantrum about how I packed up her very favorite doll (that she has not touched in six months) and demand that I take her down to retrieve it from storage. 

Excuse me???  (BREATHE, BREATHE, BREATHE. Don't cry.  Don't throw a tantrum.  Don't throw things.  *talking to myself here, not my 6 year old*)

My oldest daughter was busy doing homework all day long and I picked up my son around 2:00 p.m. from his friend's house.  He spent some time on the computer with his headphones on and she was attempting to focus on her homework while both attempted to stay out of the line of fire.  They can tell when Mom is about to lose her shit.  The youngest does not seem to notice when the vein in my forehead starts throbbing.  And, when she DOES see it, she is the one who will walk right up to me and push it with her finger.  Repeatedly.

We got a brief reprieve from little hell on wheels for awhile when she went outside to play with the neighbor kid, but then he ticked her off and she came home crying because 7 year old boys are stupid.

FML

I managed to get one more truckload moved yesterday afternoon with my son's help and then took the six year old with me grocery shopping, thinking maybe the one-on-one time would mellow her out and she was almost acting normal until we got back home again.  The rest of the night was a continuation of the power struggle: 

"I don't want to eat that."

"Can I have some candy?  Why NOT??"

"Why do I have to get a shower?"

"Help me put on my pajamas.  I can't doooooooooo ittttttttt myyyyyyselfffffff!"

"Why do I have to brush my teeth??"

"Can I sleep in your bed?"

"Why not?"

"I can't stop thinking about ghosts and scary stuff and if I don't sleep in your bed I might have a bad dream!!"

*Cries because life isn't fair and she is six and has to sleep in a warm bed provided for her by her mother who is about two bad moments from hitting the road with only the clothes on her back*

I walk out into the living room, t-shirt askew, hair a mess, wild-eyed.  The teenagers are tentatively looking up from what they are doing to see if they should say anything or if they should wait for the throbbing vein in my temple to return to normal. 

I clean up the kitchen, go to my room, set my alarm and pull the blankets as far over my head as they will go.

Except for the little white flag sticking out the top.

And This, My Friends, Is How You Get a Massage

So, I've had this pain thing that's been going on for awhile due to an injury I got awhile ago, blah blah blah (not important to this story) and it flares up sometimes and then aggravates my other body parts and they start being whiny little bitches and then it totally throws my whole walk-y talk-y rhythym off for the entire day/week/month and makes me all killy and stuff.  I take pretty good drugs for it, but sometimes they don't work enough.  Because my body is kind of an asshole.  And maybe it wants more drugs...... but I have to be able to function.  Poor me.

Well, my preggers girlfriend is going to this massage place a few times a month for prenatal massage and she gave me a referral card for a discount on a massage and I just kinda set it aside and thought about it for awhile.  Should I spend the money, or shouldn't I?  I mean, it's a great deal.  I totally DESERVE it, don't I?  PLUS, she gets a discounted massage AFTER I turn in my card so I am basically ripping her off if I don't use it.  And I am nothing if not a giver. 

I am not cooking a human or anything like that, but girl gotta get some hands on the body action going on, you know?  I mean, there is something awesome about getting totally naked and paying someone to slather on some oil and touch you every damn place EXCEPT for your naughty bits.  In fact, their JOB is to make you relaxed and they aren't even allowed to get a boner or anything. It's against the rules.  (Also impossible if the person is a chick, but I digress).  It's like prostitution, only it not as fun, it's legal, and they have to pay taxes.   

So, here's the sitch:  I decided to do the deed.  Now, this is NOT the first professional massage I've ever had.  I used to get massage therapy on a regular basis, but it's been awhile since my last one and I have a blog now and it's hard not to write about every damn thing that happens.   

Especially when it's in the dark.

With a guy.

And he's not allowed to get a boner.

So, I got there late, after hitting every damn light on the way.  I was about three minutes late and I hate being late to anything.  (Yet, I manage to be late for more things than not lately.)  I am sure I breezed in looking pretty amazing, with my hair flying everywhere, the remnants of the curses I just spewed all down the last mile of the road on my lips and the general tension and stress and anxiety I carry with me on a daily basis.  Pretty much hot, sexy and ready to go, right?  He greeted me all smiley and stuff, but I decided to let that go.  He looked slightly terrified but handed me the clipboard and I scribbled out my information the best I could and threw it handed it back to him and smiled. 

He led me back to the massage room and - holy gods I love massage rooms.  This one was giant and it smelled like that menthol-y type relaxing lotion/oil stuff and there was yoga zen budda music playing and it almost immediately made me relax a little bit.  He turned to say something and I think he caught me telling myself "You are in your safe place.  This is your safe place.  Ommmmmm....  Huh?  Sorry.  I was listening." and he wiped the uncertain look off his face, told me where to put my purse and my clothes (most of my dates don't give such concise instructions.) and then directed me to lay face down with my face over the hole (he said it better than that..) and he would check back in a few minutes. 

I got undressed in record time, went to turn my phone off and laid on the table, face down, and took a DEEP, CLEANSING breath.  And then heard my phone restart.  You asshole phone.  I learned from my LAST massage, when my SON called me about a half hour into it for no reason, that you DO NOT leave your phone on.  So, my phone was just sitting there, in re-start mode, hung up and not starting OR stopping.  Like that hourglass thing on the computer, you know?  Asshole phone!  I was laying face down, naked with just a thin sheet over my ass, reaching over to grab the damn thing and try to shut it off before he came back in.  It would NOT stop.  So I pulled the damn battery out and tossed the phone skeleton and battery on top of my purse.  Fuck da police.  I'm tryin' to get all relaxed up in here.  I got no time for that! 

*breathe  breathe  breathe*

He knocks on the door and asks if I am ready.  I stifle a laugh and say "Yep!!" (too enthusiastic?) and he comes on it and gives me the instructions about relaxing and where to stick my face and stuff.  I'm glad he reminded me to breathe because 1) I had forgotten that part and 2) It let me know I am not the only hot mess he deals with in this joint. 

So, I'm doing the face down in the hole thing and he makes a point of elaborately covering up anything that may give a hint of inappropriateness.  Like, no side boob even.  I am not very modest at all so that part made me giggle.  We are grown ups here.  I know you're not gonna touch my boobies.  We are good.  (But I totally understand why he does it in his profession.) 

After making a show of covering up all the side boob, and everything else, he then removes part of the sheet from my back and starts working on my back muscles.  Holy shit.  This part is a little boring for you because all I remember is that it was amazingly wonderful and I wanted to make it rain (er, toss him some dolla bills) if he would just not stop.  Then he got to my lower back which is the bastard of my back area and started doing that hard, painful, intense, rubby massage that made me want to punch him in the balls while kissing him and then maybe have his babies.  Yes, I was ambivalent.  But it really worked the muscles I needed to be worked so it was fantabulous when he got done and the menthol lotion stuff felt great.  I think he did some shoulder and arm stuff after that (I was still in a fog) and then he moved to my legs. 

This is the funny part:  He takes part of the sheet and totally mummifies my right leg so that ONLY my left leg is exposed.   I feel like I am on Little House on the Prairie or something.  Should I have worn a bonnet?  A burka?  Oh my gods...

Anyway, he starts with the leg thing and, after rubbing the calf, he moves up to my thigh and then he does this thing with this hand where he is rubbing it up and down REALLY  fast on my inner thigh and jiggling it back and forth and stuff to loosen the muscle and the thin sheet is doing this moving up and down thing and all I can think of is what this would look like if someone walked into the room.  And then I think I snorted a little inside (Hahaha!!  Okay, focus.  Relax... Breathe...)

He does the calf rub thing (which was amazing) and then moves down to my feet. 

Oh no, I should've gotten a pedicure first.  All I can think about is how dry my feet are and how he may have to charge me for more oil and oh damn he has to touch my feet that poor, poor man.  I wanted to apologize to him or make excuses for why I am such a loser I didn't even get my feet properly smoothed out before he had to touch them and then I remembered that if I were going to get a pedicure I'd be apologizing to the guy at the nail salon and what's the diff?  SOMEONE is gonna know my feet are dry and not smooth. 

Chillax. 

Breathe.

I actually zoned out for awhile and enjoyed the next several minutes of leg/foot massage and then it was time to "turn over".  He made sure to totally cover me almost up to my neck (seriously, should I have brought a burka?)  while he turned his head and then I got comfy, closed my eyes and breathed and then I hear a very soft "click".  The lights (which had been very dim before now) were turned out.  Like totally.  I don't even know how he could see what he was doing.  I know this because when I heard the lights go off, I peeked with one eye to see what the little noise was.  I couldn't see anything but shadows and the outline of the massage guy and the heat lamp.

I have to tell you, I am not a huge fan of total darkness.  I am well aware that this guy is doing all of this stuff for MY comfort and to be all overly appropriate and stuff but I really was doing super peachy until the lights went out.  So I lay there and remind myself to chill.  Kinda reminded myself that the lights were basically already off before then (because my eyes were closed) so it wasn't a big whoop and, right about then, when I was about to get up and find the light switch myself, he did my FAVORITE part of any massage.  You know when they slip their hands under your shoulders and neck and just use the weight of your body to PULLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL upward very slowly and it makes your head and toes tingle and you hope it never stops?  (If you have never felt that feeling go get a massage.  Not until you finish reading this, but right after.  Totally amazing.)  Anyway, so that took my mind off the weird lack of lighting situation. I just enjoyed the relaxy tingly stuffs for awhile. 

I had finally shut my brain off, got totally relaxed and purr-y again and then, as he started rubbing the top and front of my shoulders,  I suddenly thought "Holy shit, what would I do if he grabbed my boob?"  I mean, second base is RIGHT there.  Maybe he turned off the lights so he could just "accidentally" get a handful.  Wait, would a massage guy do that?  Well, I DID read this one news story where this dentist got himself handful of boob after giving the chick novocaine and, if you think about it, him getting me this relaxed from massage is SORTA like giving me novacaine because even if I wanted to move, I wouldn't WANT to, um, I mean I wouldn't be ABLE to, so it's kind of the same thing!!  And then he did that behind the shoulder/neck/head thing again, and then moved to an intense massage of my forearms and wrists and my brain shut off for the rest of the massage and I really didn't care if he grabbed my boobs. 

Which he didn't. 

Because he's not a boob grabber.

The massage was amazing and relaxing and, other than the weird mummification and lights out things, one of the best massages I've ever had.   

I wasn't sure I should DRIVE when he was done because I was so relaxed I felt a little drunk, but I got to take my time getting my bearings, drink lots of water and then coast on out when I was good and ready.

Oh, and I also made sure I made my next appointment.

And flashed him "Deuces"

Peace.