Headbanger Ball

Ordinarily, I count on the weekend being a more or less relaxing time. A time to unwind a bit. To play with the kids. To talk with the husband. Do a little laundry, cook a meal or two, maybe make some cookies, and gosh-golly just detox from the cruel work week. Putting the kids to bed on Sunday night is a wistful little moment of wishing I had another day (or two) of this bliss before having to get back in amongst the unwashed masses with my sharpened elbows and over-zealous work ethic.

This weekend, however, was the kind where the Monday morning alarm is an “OH THANK DAWG!!!” event of joyous celebration.

Thank Dawg, thank Dawg, I get to go to the office now!!

99.9% of the madness came from Captain Adventure. He has an ear infection. He is also a head banger – you know, one of those little ones who will throw himself on the floor and slam his head against it incredibly hard to express his anger and frustration at, well, whatever is irking him.

From Friday afternoon onward, this little tiny person was a shrieking ball of misery, pounding his precious little head, the same little head we have spent so many months guarding like the most delicate of spun glass, against whatever surface presented itself in an excess of fury and frustration.

My nerves are shot.

He also woke up many times throughout both Friday and Saturday nights. Saturday was the worst. 1:40, 2:30, 3:40, 5:00…he woke up screaming and began banging his head against the rails of his crib. And then ‘everybody’ was up by 6:45 and there we were. Half an hour of unbroken sleep and everybody jumping all over me begging for breakfast. Ugh.

Last night, I stayed up too late watching the stupid Olympics (stupid half pipe thing!). So I went to bed at 11:00. And got up at 1:00 when he started shrieking. And at 2:15, when Boo Bug came into the room to announce that she was scared because she dreamed there were bad guys under her bed, but she wasn’t scared now because they were gone. And at 3:30, when I was gifted with a sudden jolt of shrieking from the crib that tapered off before I had done more than sit up in bed.

Two seconds later, at 4:30, the alarm went off.

I was so tired I felt drunk. I was amazed to find upon arriving at the office that I was dressed in actual matching clothing. Even my hair tie is coordinated, and I appear to have specifically chosen earrings that go with this shirt.

I’m astonished. Because I have almost no memory of getting dressed whatsoever, and it’s a miracle I didn’t turn up here in, say, nothing but a pair of jeans and a bra; or maybe the equally fetching cut-off jeans and heavy wool sweater combo. Gee, why are my knees so creakin-crackin’ cold this morning…?

I did forget my heavy jacket, which I regretted for those few long moments spent shivering on train platforms; and I am still so out of it that I exported only page one (of fifteen) of a report and sent it cheerfully off to the client. What a lovely rookie move, one I haven’t pulled in, oh, Lord. A decade? Yes, the last time I can remember doing something like this was indeed ten years ago. Well, eleven, but who's counting?

And I would do it under the direction of the guy who has the least time/patience quotient.

Nice. Nothing says “happy Monday” like doing something stupid and getting to listen to the, “Now, what can we do to prevent this in the future” lecture. Especially when you’re still sitting there in a state of “duuuuuuuuuuuh” from the Weekend from Hell.

I resisted the urge to snark by the barest of margins. It was >>this<< close, I tell you. I agreed that checking the backend data was probably a good idea without pointing out that I couldn’t have checked the backend data this morning on account of because the backend server is on its backside right now; and I also resisted the urge to point out (testily) that in the scant two weeks I’ve been on this job I have been introduced to three servers containing a few dozen databases apiece, each with anywhere from a dozen to a hundred tables containing the data we use. So saying ‘remember, we looked at this a couple times two weeks ago’ is kind of like asking me if I remember that brunette girl in the blue shirt driving the red Volvo in the fast lane two weeks ago.

Uh. No. No, I don’t really remember her.

Nor do I remember looking at this particular table, nor do I remember where the @*%& it is, or really anything else about it or the program it represents at this point.

But I resisted the urge to be snarky for two reasons.

One – bottom line, it was my bad. I hate it when other people start that whole ‘blame aikido’ thing. “It wasn’t my fault because {whine complain explain excuse excuse excuse and besides all that my cat died two years ago and I’m still traumatized and besides THAT it was probably [some random other person]’s fault! Yeah, that’s it! [Some other random person] did the bad!!}!”

Shut. Up. You screwed up, suck it up, take responsibility, feel bad about it, walk it off and don’t do it again.

And two – I’d still rather be here and listening to the lecture than home and listening to the shrieking and head banging.

Thank you sir, may I have another?