Sometimes in my Universe, it's okay to cry.

After a really bad, bad Monday-of-Mondays...

... a day where the contractor attempts to belittle me about the staking job of my company surveyors...
... a day where the office administrator, one who worked for 10+ years for the company, who I thought was actually a good friend, just up and left her position, her belongings in tote. No warning to anyone. No goodbye to anyone. All because her boyfriend, a surveyor, was laid off last week due to lack of work.
... a day where I came to realize that my wedding invitations will not all be exactly the same because the idiotic Michaels in my small town doesn't reorder cardstock any more often that every two years. I found a beautiful backing for my invitations there, and lo and behold, I took the last of Michaels supply and they will not have any more probably until the year 2010. And because NO OTHER STORE in my small town have anything remotely similar to this cardstock, I will have to find another design to finish the invitations. But more stressful: all of the invitations are NOT THE SAME.
... a day that when a wedding photographer called to check on our contract, the same one that Scott and I decided not to use her a couple of days before, and when I told her that, we're sorry but we decided to go with another photographer, she got angry. And snippy with me. And cursed me for breaking our "verbal contract" and that she's been turning down that day because of the contract that she mailed me. So I got snippy back with her and we both hung up the phone angry.
... a day when I realize that the camping trip that I had planned for Scott, Connor and myself in our new-to-us RV will not happen this coming up weekend because this town does not carry alternators for a 1974 Dodge. It will need to be rebuilt. In Klamath Falls. And it will take weeks.
... a day that my dad is visiting and I worry about making a good dinner that he will like and eat. He is too underweight, and that is just another stress to list.
... a day that when Connor needs help putting toothpaste on his toothbrush, he insists that his dad do it. And so I tell him that it doesn't really matter, that his dad is busy outside, that I can do it. So after I put the toothpaste on his toothbrush, he washes it off and takes it to his dad ANYWAY.
... a day that I lose it. I completely lose my Mandy-cool.

After the toothpaste episode, I walked upstairs to our bedroom. I childishly slammed the door. I curled up on the bed and cried. Just like I was seven years old again.

It felt good actually. And after a good 20 minutes of sulking in my own misery, I heard a small knock at the door.

I wiped my eyes and sniffed, "Yeah?"

Connor opened the door and walked inside my dark bedroom, "Mandy, smell my teeth. See? I DID brush my teeth."

I smiled. There are certain things that will melt my frustrated heart. And Connor does. Every time.