Really?

Dear Elli,

I arrived home today after spending three evenings away while executing (with the assistance of several other awesome people) the most awesome corporate event in the history of corporate events.  I'm not lying.  I am really that good.  Just ask me. 

Anyway.  I worked (really hard) 16 hour days.  For three days.  I also drank a disgusting amount of beer.  And didn't really sleep much.  So I'm freaking tired.  Really tired. 

I came home early to take a nap.  And guess what happened when I arrived? 

First, I pulled in the driveway and noticed that there is a significant amount of flashing removed from the top of the garage door.  Apparently, your father thought it would be great to park his work truck in the garage during my absence.  Except it is clearly too tall to fit into the garage as evidenced by the flashing that has been ripped from the house.  Awesome.

Second, I get out of my car and the power locks start locking.  By themselves.  Repeatedly.  This obviously is not my day.

So I ignore the repeated locking of my doors and go in the house.  The smell of festering trash is only slightly alarming.  So I went into the bedroom to lay down.  But my pillow is gone.  Sweet Mother of God!  Where is my freaking pillow!?  This happened five hours ago and I still haven't found the Godforsaken thing. 

I lay down without a pillow. The dog and cat have a fight.  The dog is attempting to hold the cat down and hump the life out of her.  And she doesn't appreciate it.  I told them to get a room and slammed the bedroom door.  The dog and cat both begin crying because I locked them out of the room. 

Now I'm hungry.  So I go to the kitchen and open the refrigerator.  The milk is out of date and the only other noticeable item is an empty bowl.  That's right.  Apparently the bowl needed to be refrigerated.  Alone.

I was clearly not meant to have a nap or any food, so I went to pick you up.  And you have a cough.  Probably from living in a house alongside festering trash for three days.  Or maybe from consuming outdated milk and refrigerated bowls.  Who knows. 

I made dinner.  A frozen pizza.  Because I'm an awesome cook who could put Paula Dean to shame with my mad frozen pizza baking skillz.  And I can spell skills with a "z" because I listen to rap music. 

And I poured you a glass of outdated milk.  (It was only two days.  Give me a break.  I tasted it first and it was fine.). And you promptly spilled it all over the floor.  Did I mention that God hates me?

So now I'm beginning to hallucinate and you crawl onto my lap while explaining to me that a "girl's bottom is called a china and a boy's is called peanuts".  After I clarify that the correct terms are actually vagina and penis, not china and peanuts, I begin to giggle.

This may be the most absurdly ridiculous day of my life.  And it is hilarious!  I couldn't make this shit up if I tried!

God is mad at me for a very clear reason.  It's gotta be the rap music.

I love you.  And even though coming home today was slightly disturbing to me, I missed you and I'm glad to be here.  Even though God hates me.

Mom