Because who in their right mind would want to just have a cake and not eat it? It’s not like saving it doubles its value. You can’t resell it. So by golly, if someone gives me a cake, I’m damn well going to eat it! Not just admire it. Or save it until it goes stale. Or use it for murder. I’m going to cut it up into delicious pieces and CONSUME THAT SHIT.

So will someone tell me, what is the point in having a cake if you can’t eat it? FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS CHOCOLATE, someone please tell me!

It made me cry.

Which made me mad.

So I turned back around, grabbed Nathan out of the nursery, and left. I didn’t even stay for the service. Because I know where I am not welcome, and I was absolutely not welcome there. It was very hurtful and disappointing.

However, I wasn’t going to allow such behavior to prevent me from attending church. So, with Nathan in my arms, I walked next door to a church of a totally different denomination, and the difference in the atmosphere was like night and day. The people were so kind, friendly, warm, and welcoming. No one, not one single person, was rude to me or made me feel bad.

The experience I had at the first church was so surreal that I felt like I had been plucked from reality and thrust into someone’s high-school nightmare. It was such a  judgemental environment, and I absolutely will not ever step foot in there again.

I don’t know why people, especially people who call themselves Christians, can be so rude and disrespectful to a newcomer in their own church.

Then, last but not least, Nathan was bitten by something on his leg. It’s nothing serious, and he’s not sick or running a fever, but he has this angry little welt that he scratches so much that it’s scabbed. I tried putting a band-aid over it, and of course, he just yanked it off.

So now I’m looking forward to relaxing and letting some of this stress melt off me. Hopefully my toe will heal soon… it is NOT FUN having an achy toe.

When I returned to the living room with my lunch, Nathan had discovered my glass of chocolate milk. And by discovered, I mean he had put his entire arm, UP TO HIS ELBOW, inside the cup. And when he saw me looming in the living-room doorway, his eyes became about as big as saucers and he completely froze. With his entire arm planted firmly in my delicious glass of chocolate milk.

Yes, I still drank it.

Every last drop.

Friend: “I see. I’ve been through this, too. Do you know what you’re dealing with?”

Me: “No. What?”

Friend: “You’re dealing with a zombler.”

Me: “…”

Friend: “Yeah. You know, a zombie-toddler. Zombler.”

Me: “That’s it! I TOTALLY HAVE A ZOMBLER!”

I dozed from 5 am til almost 6 am, when I was roused from my partial slumber by my husband wiggling his toes. DAMN TOE-WIGGLER.

My back was killing me (as usual) so I laid there and tried to ignore the pain until around 7:15, when I got up and ate a bowl of cereal and took some Ibuprofen. Back to bed. Finally dozed off again from 7:30 until 8:45, when Nathan woke up. I got up, changed his diaper, and was able to sleep for a little bit longer while my husband got ready for work.

I hate when I can’t sleep. Ever read the book Insomnia by Stephen King? I tell myself my insomnia could always be worse. I could be seeing little bald doctors jumping in the shadows and auras streaming from people’s noggins. So my insomnia isn’t that bad…. but it’s still enough to where it drives me nuts trying to take care of a rather demanding 17-month old while functioning on only a couple hours of sleep.

(Yeah, can you believe Nathan is 17 months already? Where does time go? Oh wait. I know. IT DISAPPEARS ALONG WITH MY SLEEP.)

There is always nap time, right?

In fact, my dad (who is Finnish) introduced me to the sauna when I was only 5 or 6 years old. At the time, he was active duty (Army) and I would sometimes accompany him to his PT. The base had a sauna, so after his workout, we would go relax in it. And even though I was just a child, I thought it was so freakin’ awesome. (And, of course, my dad always peeked in first to make sure no naked men were lounging inside. Fortunately, there never was!) But this humidity that we’ve been experiencing? It’s not the soothing heat of a sauna, for sure. It’s killing me. If it was possible to get a restraining order on this humidity, I WOULD TOTALLY DO IT. The air outside is all moist and damp and sweaty and smelly and not at all unlike BEING TRAPPED IN THE DEVIL’S ARMPIT after he’s been doing cartwheels in hell.

I am to the point that daydreaming of being an ice cube is causing me to feel delirious.

Melting.

Dehydrating.

Shriveling.

Mummifying.

IT IS THAT HOT here in East Tennessee. We’ve had this awful heatwave for the past few days, and our air conditioners cannot keep up. (We live in a house built by my husband’s great-great grandparents… so no central heat-and-air for us!) We have two window units, and the suffocating heat is too much for them.

When I woke up this morning, it was 80 degrees in the house. With the air conditioners and four fans running at full blast. And outside? Outside, it is simply miserable. As in, the humidity is so thick that it feels like you are stepping into a thick, damp wool coat.

If I was an ice cube, I would be happy. Because then I’d be living IN THE FREEZER. Where it’s cold and frozen and where your tongue can stick to a flag pole.

Then again, if I was an ice cube, it’d be my luck that I’d be the one to be dunked into a cup of tepid water. Or the one loner that falls on the floor, melting my little ice-cube life away into a puddle.

So on second thought, I think I’ll just stick to being human, albeit a miserable human who is hoping against hope that this heat wave lets up and soon!