Okay, so I'll tell you part of the reason why I've been in a no-good, awful, horrible mood today, but you have to PROMISE not to laugh. At least, not so loudly that I can hear you.
I'm blaming my misery on Oprah. Well, not directly on Oprah, perhaps more on her producers. I got my hopes up--ridiculously so--and then as the days have crept by since April 14th I've become more resigned to my fate. My fate, that is, of not being chosen. Even though I was not entitled to being chosen, I was still just hoping a tiny bit that I would be. The whole thing is proof positive that I am not getting enough sleep. Also, being spit up on half a dozen times a day appears to be taking its toll. It is the only way to explain how insanely and oddly disappointed I am right now.
Perhaps I should explain.
Several weeks ago I wandered by Oprah's site and saw that she was having a contest that made my heart beat just a little bit faster. It was contest for a backyard makeover. Oh. my. goodness. gracious. This was my chance.
If you've been around here long enough you enough that our backyard is a disaster. There was a pool, now there's a pit. There was grass, now there's mud. There was prettiness, and now it's the reason I don't raise the curtains on my windows anymore. To be fair, it was third in my list of priorities of change. First the wood floors. Then the leather couches. Check, and check. Third on the to-do list: backyard.
Even though there are some minor repairs I could do to curb the catastrophe of the backyard, so much of it revolves around the deck being fixed. I'm not keen on planting pretty pretty flowers and lovely green grass only to have them smushed to a certain death when the deck is repaired. I have, therefore, been waiting. Not patiently (ask Jason and he'll vouch for that character flaw) but waiting nonetheless. The tax refund brought me hope, but then an unforeseen money issue came up and *poof* tax refund gone. Backyard repair postponed indefinitely.
So I got out the video camera. I wrote the script. I edited the video. I sent it off to the powers that be at Harpo Productions in Chicago. I prayed fervently that someone would take pity on me. Heck, I had plenty of pity to loan them from my own personal stash. I figured I had a 1 in 500 chance of getting it. I have no scientific basis for those odds; I just pulled them out of the air. The contest ended April 14th. The winner would be contacted by the producers by April 24th.
I know, I know. There's still time. My phone could ring tomorrow. Possibly. Maybe.
I mean, really. Who calls with good news on a Tuesday? No one. Unless you were born on a Tuesday, in which case everyone that your parents called would have received good news because you being born is worth of the "good news" classification. OTHER THAN birth announcements, Tuesdays are not inspiring. They are the sophomores of the week. Not new; not old. Just passing time.
I realize how silly I was to get my hopes up. But you have to understand how much the problem of the backyard weighs on me. I'm at the point where I'd consider selling our house just so I could get a new backyard, that's how desperate I am. I would even sell the car and ride the bus for the next year just to be able to go outside with the girls and not panic that Sydney will fall off the deck. If you're thinking it's a matter of hard work and *presto* the yard will be fixed, that's not the case. It's a matter of money.
In all seriousness, I'll be okay. There are worse things than not having a backyard. People all over the world don't have backyards, and they are perfectly happy. I realize how shallow it seems to be so worked up over a patch of weeds and few splinters. I know I'm an idiot for not wanting to invite people over simply because our backyard isn't up to par. It's a character flaw that needs work.
Until I become a better and more mature person who focuses her energy on real problems, rather than petty ones, I'm working through my disappointment.
Maybe, eventually, I'll even forgive Oprah. I'm not perfect though. It could take awhile.