Oscar the ....

Though I cannot see his face, I know what it looks like. Red. Wet. Liquid boogers are oozing down his lips and smearing across his door--his mouth squished dramatically against the wooden surface so he can be sure I hear his piercing screams.

And this is me. Typing. Ignoring. Not dealing. Clicking away the tense feeling that has been in my chest since I woke up this morning. The one that has no basis, cause or reason.

This feeling caused me to flat-iron my hair this morning, then put it in a ponytail, then take it out and flat-iron it again, then the ponytail, and so on.

This tense feeling distracted me from tipping my waitress when I went to lunch with some girlfriends at noon (don't worry all you former servers; I called Firehouse Pizza as soon as I realized my mistake and made arrangements for restitution).

This tense feeling caused me to watch a full hour of Gossip Girl, which, I realize, probably made matters worse.

All the while, this tense feeling has made me really short with my kids... all day.

Now I am ignoring my son, who is throwing a tantrum. And while I believe "ignoring" is the best tool for handling a toddler who is throwing a tantrum, that is not why I am doing it. It is because that slimy boogery door is the only thing separating me from giving my little cub the royal spanking of his life. And, aside from "running into the street without holding Mommy's hand" incidents, I don't subscribe to spankings.

So I am typing. And then I'll go to bed. And tomorrow I will not be grouchy anymore.