I'm feeling grumpy today - and miffed, ticked-off, out-of-sorts, grouchy - the list of adjectives could go on and on but I think you get the picture. I figure there are several reasons for this: I could blame it on the weather of which I am heartily tired, I could blame it on my gimpy foot of which I am heartily tired, or I could blame it on the more likely culprit which is the aggravation that grows while trying to get Jamie's stuff all packed up for our semi-annual way-too-darned-early-in-the-morning trip to Hartford.
I should be used to this by now. For two years I've had lots of practice at trying to repack someone's entire summer into two small suitcases. I've had lots of practice in trying to confirm airline reservations and paying the way-too-expensive unaccompanied child fee that the airlines gouge you with. And I've had lots of practice at getting up at some un-Godly hour of the morning to get to the airport because my ex never realizes that in order to get to to the airport for a flight out at 6:50 I have to be out the door not much later than 4:00 in order to get checked in on time, etc. Why he can't make the reservations for a more reasonable time is beyond me.
Of course Jamie has stuff spread all over the house from top to bottom. Trying to locate it all sends everyone on a search and rescue expedition under beds, behind couches, and out to the car because none of my children inherited my "neat-nik" genes. Oh no, they got their father's leave-it-where-it-drops attitude so that makes it even more difficult to get things together. And anal retentive, borderline-obsessive-compulsive person that I am I can't possibly pack anything into a suitcase that might even be remotely dirty. So of course that means everything goes into the washing machine and that requires climbing up and down the basement stairs (and anyone who has ever seen my basement stairs can tell you that it's quite the climb!) with loads of laundry (and darned if there isn't always at least one sock that got left out of the load!).
Underneath all of this runs a very fine thread of resentment - resentment at my ex that I should have to go through this several times a year, resentment at my children that they can't be a little more organized, and resentment at myself that I know why I'm so grumpy but can't seem to do anything about it. Again, I should be used to this by now but I guess I'm not. Does one ever really get used to sending their child 900 miles away? I'm beginning to think not.
Oh well, I'm going to grump off to the basement - yet again - to check on the last load of clothes I tossed in and then I'm going to try to get Jamie's stuff neatly packed without busting out into tears at the sheer frustration of it all. I doubt anyone would want to place odds on whether I succeed or not!