The Day that Kicked my Ass

It started out badly, as this type of day will tend to do.

The Hubbie and I overslept by an hour. We woke up to the sound of his cell phone ringing – the guy he gives a ride to work to was wondering where he was. It was 7 am.

Extra sleep might not sound like such a bad start to the day but for me it was. One of my many roles in our household is Head Alarm Clock Attendant and I had quite obviously failed. Hubbie would sleep through the alarm everyday if it weren’t for me. He requires a properly placed elbow in the ribs and a few loving slaps in the face to wake up. One day they’ll invent an alarm that will replace me and then I’ll have to find something else to contribute to our marriage. But anyway, I digress…

So the Hubbie was late for work and not too pleased about it. He left the house with a few grumpy stomps and a slightly over-enthusiastic slamming of the door that woke the Little Man up. And of course, my sweet baby boy decided to make my morning even more interesting. Toys were thrown at me, breakfast was thrown at me, and nothing I did pleased the little prince. It didn’t help my mood when he threw a spoonful of oatmeal onto my last pair of clean Capri pants and I had no other option but to put on jeans when at 8 am it was already over 20 degrees.

Thank goodness for naptime.

As soon as he was asleep, I took some time to check my emails. I happened to have received my first rejection letter for my second novel. It was a standard, polite response - the kind I’ve grown to expect. But no matter how ok you tell yourself you are with it, rejection still hurts. It definitely didn’t make my day any better.

Then the phone rang and woke up the Little Man after only 45 minutes of peace. And it wasn’t even a good phone call – it was a telemarketer. I was thrilled.

Little Man woke up cranky. Of course he did. I decided to take him to the pool to get us both out of the house but couldn’t find his swimming shorts. Then I realized that after I had been stung by a wasp the other day and had come home from the beach in a drug induced trance (prescription meds thank you very much and my sister-in-law was there babysitting me and the kiddo) I forgot to take the Little Man’s swimming things out of my backpack. Lovely. His swim shorts and towel were sandy and damp and had been sitting in the bottom of my backpack for 2 days. And they reeked – way more than they should have. And that’s when I realized I had been betrayed.

My dear sweet Fat Cat who has such perfect bladder control that we don’t even have a litter tray for him anymore had turned my backpack into his own personal bathroom. This, I would expect from the Bad Cat who presently lives outdoors because of such past incidents but my Fatipuss? The world really was turning against me.

So the swim shorts and towel went into the washing machine and my backpack went into the garbage. It was just what I needed to cheer me up – more laundry.

It was an hour or so later when we were finally ready to go swimming. We got all packed up and loaded into the car, drove down to the pool only to find out that in the summer time the wave machine is turned on from 1pm onwards. And it was 2pm. The Little Man doesn’t do waves.

Are you freakin’ kidding me?

So we pile back into the car (did I mention it’s nearly 30 degrees on this beautiful day and I drive a BLACK Honda?) and just as I go to pull out of my parking spot my Blackberry buzzes. I’ve just received another email in response to the queries I sent out – this one from a certain Literary Agency.

Well, what do you know? It’s another rejection letter but this one’s a “shit sandwich” (as a friend of mine likes to say). You know the format – compliment, criticism, compliment. So apparently my novel is “interesting” but “there is too much telling going on” while my ideas are still “creative”. Then it’s all topped off by saying that they rarely take on “previously unpublished authors” anyway.

Rejection I can deal with. Criticism I can accept, especially if I can learn from it - but this? Really? If you’re going to send me a four sentence rejection letter, why even bother to make vague and critical (yet non-constructive) comments?

So I was really getting my ass kicked by the world at this point and I realized that today, I was obviously not going to win. So what did I do? I went to a wonderful place where I could bury all of my troubles beneath a heap of chocolaty ice cream. Where no one could judge me for wanting both oreo cookies and chunks of brownies in my ice cream because it’s actually on the menu. Where I could satisfy my chocolate, cookie, brownie, ice cream craving without ever having to get out of my car. Thank you DQ.

And then things started to turn around (don’t tell me food doesn’t fix things).

Little Man had his first taste of a Blizzard which was pretty entertaining. We hit up Wal-mart and strolled around in the AC for longer than necessary, played with toys I had no intention of buying, and even found a new backpack. Then Hubbie got off work early and surprised me and the Little Man. He entertained our trouble-maker while I made dinner and he even handled a dirty diaper solo, making me fall in love with him all over again.

And that last rejection letter? I decided something that made me feel a lot better. When one of my novels is published and that particular agency comes knocking at my door offering representation, I will have a shit sandwich all ready to serve them back.

“Thank you for your generous offer” but “your agents do too much ‘telling’” so... “have a nice day”. Ha.

Immature, but it makes me smile.


Suzi