And perhaps when I say "most women," what I really mean is me.
The morning started out innocently enough. Scotty started making chirping noises around 6:30am (5:30 DST, for anyone following along...kill me now...) I rolled over and grunted at Brian. "Not it," I said. He grunted back, but then I heard him sigh and get up. Satisfied, I snuggled in for an extra hour of sleep.
The Bear and Brian woke me up a short time later. I detected a whiff of attitude from my husband, as he did not appear to be his usual pleasant morning self. Immediately in my head, I began going over all of the justifications as to why it was okay for me to sleep in. I'm training for a half marathon; my body needs the sleep. I'll wake up with him on Sunday. I am exhausted. I have dark circles under my eyes and I'm starting to look like a raccoon. I need the sleep, okay? Get off my metaphorical back.
Then my internal monologue of grumpiness (fueled by no coffee, mind you; a true recipe for disaster) veered off into my schedule for today. And then tomorrow. And all of the things that I needed to get done in the next 48 hours hit me like a ton of bricks, so I dealt with it the way every good wife does: I started snipping at my husband.
"Did you make him breakfast?"
"Did you give him his medicine?" (Scotty's on antibiotics for a sinus infection. Today is day 9).
"Did you change his clothes, brush his teeth, put the dishes away, or sweep the kitchen?"
I knew the answers before I asked the questions, but my irrational self still vocalized the questions. Just out of unpleasant spite.
And keeping with the theme of the morning, I launched into my "So essentially, you've done nothing other than keep the child alive until I woke up?" speech when I started to notice Brian's eyes glaze over.
I was losing my audience.
I could tell he was started to eye the door, wondering just how fast/quietly he could exit the building to stop my ranting. He wasnt' listening; he was planning his escape.
Regardless, I pressed on.
"Do have any idea how much stuff I have to do tomorrow? I am waking up at 6am to run 10 miles. We then have a toddler birthday party in the morning. Then I have to go decorate - for the Halloween party we are throwing - in the afternoon, which by the way, all of the decorations are still in my car. I asked you to take them out last night, which you did not do. And after I'm done decorating, I have to come home, make food, shower, and then we need to put our costumes on. The party starts at 8 and we need to be there early. Do you know how tired I am going to be?"
I kept going.
"...and today, I need to go to the Gap and get a birthday present, go to Costco - on a Friday afternoon of a holiday weekend! - drop off books at the library, and take Scotty to the park. And hem his costume and edit articles for Junior League AND do all of this while entertaining a toddler glued to my hip."
Oh wait, still not done.
"So while you sit there and pout about getting up early, I want you to know enjoy - " my voice got a little louder here " - YOUR DAY NOT TAKING CARE OF ANYONE BUT YOURSELF. ENJOY YOUR QUIET RIDE TO YOUR QUIET OFFICE IN A CLEAN, QUIET CAR."
And with that, ladies and gentlemen, I became the scariest thing about Halloween.
Looking back, yes, I recognize my behavior was poor. Terrible, in fact. Brian, bless his heart, simply exited quietly through the garage with a look of fear and concern in his eyes. And mild irritation, but I'm not going to begrudge him that. I'm just happy he didn't throw a plate at me or something, since my head was clearly about to start spinning around.
But what is it about the holidays that makes us (okay, me) crazy? I know I'm not the only one going through this right now. I know there are probably millions of women, frantically gluing buttons on cheap felt material right now while eating their weight in mini candy bars. I'm sure there are hundreds of us driving around with plastic skulls in our backseats, cutting off the guy in front us because we want - no, we need - that Starbucks more than the other person. We're picking fights with our spouses because we've piled our plates high with charity work and toddler activities and exercise, and then we melt into puddles of resentment and exhaustion when we realize the day is only 24 hours long.
This is not good.
I blame Martha Stewart for this.
And so while I am cognizant of my mistakes, I am going to try to take a chill pill this weekend (hopefully in the form of a mini Twix bar and maybe a vodka cocktail or two), and remind myself, things don't have to be perfect. It's okay to let the husband watch that baseball-game-thing that is on tonight. It's like, some big deal or something. It's okay if Scotty's pants on his costume are too long; it's okay to just cut the material and have an uneven edge. Really, who cares?
Because between the pumpkins, the goats, and now today, I fear that the rest of the year (holiday time!) will be nothing but a giant stress headache waiting to happen.
We haven't even discussed pumpkin carving on Sunday yet.
I'm not sure Brian's going to let me handle sharp objects.
Happy Halloween, everyone.