Pity Party At My House

Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is having a snit fit tonight. She is about ready to unpack the world's smallest violin, which happens to be a fiddle in the nation of Hillmomba, and compose a haunting tune of pout music, perhaps suitable for a bout of worm-eating, to play in the background during her pity party. Because that's how she rolls.

Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is OH SO TIRED of pleasing everyone else. Her school day ended at 2:56, but then she had to supervise her own young 'uns while keeping up the facade of actually finishing her work before leaving work. The youngsters were having none of that. The #2 son arrived at the stroke of 3:04 and commenced to asking how to log on to his computer games. He then stated he would do his math homework at 3:30 so Mrs. HM could use that computer to look up some very important teaching items.

In the meantime, the #1 son arrived with 2 of his cronies. By arrived, I mean galloped into the room with the cronies hot on his tail, expounding about a contest, a contest, we're having a competition, so you have to buy from me, you're my own mom, don't you dare buy from them, I need a flying hog, you just hold onto its front hooves and pull back its body and let go like a slingshot and if you can launch it the furthest you win an MP4 player that looks a lot like an IPOD but acts like a ZOON which is overall better than an IPOD because it has a bigger screen for the same price, and a hoodie and I am going to win them because I'm going to get all the teachers here and I'm taking it to church on Sunday too. With that, he sprinted out of the room to look for fresh victims. One of his buddies snuck back in and sobbed a tale of woe about how last year the third crony stole his own mother out from under his nose, making her buy from the third crony instead of her own loving son, so could I help him out, because it's only fair. Since my own son had not even shown me the brochure, I agreed to bargain with the devil, and my young son stated that HE was picking the item, which turned out to be HORRENDOUSLY OVERPRICED candy in the manner of school fundraisers everywhere.

After spending a worthless afternoon at work, we finally left at 4:37, after doing the bare minimum for tomorrow, carting work home with me once again. Upon arrival at the Mansion at 5:15, I popped some lemon pepper chicken into the oven, found some Turkey Stove Top Stuffing in the pantry, and looked at the fundraiser thingy some more. I got one child's lunch ready for tomorrow, laid out clothing, sorted through the mail, dished up the food at 6:10, listened to HH complain that he never gets any credit for doing anything (by that he means two weeks ago cleaning ONE bathroom sink but no toilets or showers or towels or anything in any of the THREE Mansion bathrooms and dusting knick-knacks in the bedroom and making the bed that day with the same sheets only putting the colored side of the top sheet face down), then scraped and handwashed all the dishes because DUH the only dishwasher we have in this Mansion is ME, and tried to lie down for 10 FREAKIN' MINUTES because my back hurt so bad that my hands were shaking, which happens every now and then ever since I had that roll-over wreck in a Chevy Chevette and I think there is probably a terrible thing going on with a disc but it won't be terrible enough to paralyze me because THEN I might accidentally get some rest, and hey, people, Note to Self time: Chevy Chevettes are not made to withstand roll-over accidents so don't try this at home, but while lying on my bed I had to bellow at my children 50 times to knock off the shenanigans because their father took off to the BARn while the dishes were in progress with his nose all out of joint because he wasn't validated on his doing of everything around this house, and suddenly there came a "YOU STUPID IDIOT, get something to clean that up!" which I really do not like to hear after such a trying afternoon and evening, and then as the young pillow-swinger mopped up his spilled water in the living room, and perhaps cried over it a bit, the sweaty-footed avoiding-homework boy entered my boudoir and said, "Hey, MOM! Feel this NOW!" and put his dripping sock-foot on my forearm, which was totally like the last straw, or so I thought, until I finally made myself the beginning of my own Cherry Diet Coke, what with a dollar jar of cherries from Save A Lot, some ice from a bag, a leftover Sonic straw, and a large plastic glass, but found there was no Diet Coke to be had in the Mansion, though there was some in the LSUV that the boy had not carried into school as instructed, so he was sent to get one and carry it and the icy cherry glass down to my basement lair, yet he came back upstairs crowing, "I poured it in for you, Mom" which was NOT what I wanted to hear, as I was hoping to stick it in the freezer a few minutes so it was not boiling hot, but he had already done the deed, and when I got down here in 5 minutes, all the fizz was gone, and most of the ice as well, and then 5 minutes after THAT, the boy came with his homework that should have been done after school, and sucked 50 minutes out of my life with math corrections and one of those mind-numbing logic questions like 'Chip, Ann, Peter, and Mike all have different Math teachers: Mr Chips, Mr Moore, Ms Ames, and Mr Poole, and they each have a pet, but the pet can not start with the same letter as their name, and if Chip got an 'A' on his test on Monday, and he has lunch with Peter, and Mr Chips and his student both have a monkey, and Ann's best friend has an anteater, then who has a Cheetah for a pet?" Don't try to answer that. Some of the clues are missing.

Anyhoo...I have had quite a day, and have homework of my own to do, and I am just tired of being pulled every which way like Gumby, d*mmit!