May Day, May Day…

Happy May Day!  May one and spring has exploded and is easing into summer like weather at a rapid pace.  I have flowers blooming that don’t ordinarily pop until June and the itch to go move some soil around is in full swing.  I indulged in  a couple of beautiful perennial Viola’s for the basket of my vintage red bicycle that stands sentinel at my front door.   Partnered with a bit of moss to disguise the plastic pots they arrived in, I now have a few dozen cheerful little Viola faces greeting my visitors in a natty little display. Yay Spring!

Now, today may be May Day but last night I was issuing a May Day!  Reality at 3 a.m. displays its razor edged crispness in a way that isn’t the same at 3 in the afternoon.  It makes all those little resentments and irritants less easy to gloss over and more easy to charge into head on.  I’ll give you a bit of the back story in order to offer a bit clearer picture…my youngest was back in town.  This alone is nothing unusual but the fact that I had been scrubbing and cleaning and washing sheets and cleaning windows in an attempt to prepare for impending visitors and the dynamic is redirected.  Enter into evidence the ‘guest room’, formerly the youngest’s bedroom.  Crisp clean sheets, sparkling surfaces, plumped pillows and a fresh scent were ready and waiting for guests.  Enter into evidence-my youngest send me a text that he and his friend have decided to stay instead of make the hour and a half trek back to their apartment.  No problem.  I text that there are sheets and pillows waiting at the top of the steps so that they can crash on the couch and floor because the ‘room in question’ was all prepared for guests and not to be used.

Que dramatic music here…

Guess what am I doing this morning.  Go ahead, guess.

Washing sheets, re-cleaning bathrooms and muttering to myself that when you aren’t in high school any more, you shouldn’t act like you are.  Starting at 1 a.m. or so, I could have composed a symphony using all the movements that were taking place downstairs.  The opening and closing of doors that continued for 2+ hours worked to build up to a crescendo  that was sent into fortissimo mode by the copious amount of giggling (ick) that could be heard. What-I had thought- was going to be my youngest plus one crashed on the floor turned into at least six adult sized, hic-upping, giggling, stomping, door closing, door opening, up and down the stair-ing,  possibly alcohol soaked individuals all crammed into…drum roll please…a no longer clean, no longer fresh sheeted, formerly fresh room…no longer fit for guests.  Was I miffed… just a little bit.

Well, that may be an understatement.  Not only was I exhausted from lack of sleep when I got up this morning, I was on full boil.  My spouse passing out OJ and smiles to all the culprits didn’t exactly help matters.  HELLO-were you not kept up half the night?  I, personally, was not going to reward this behavior, or encourage future repeats, by offering sunshine and erased memories.  Nor am I going to let go of the fact that when all of these goings on were going on I was being patted on the arm and told to “chill”.  Chill? CHILL? Are you serious??

Here is where razor edged reality starts cutting a rug…

I will spare you the gory details but old resentments, irritants and general complaints are not served up like OJ and sunshine at 3 a.m. and honey-I don’t usually erase my memories.  It hardly needs stating that there is a doghouse for two being constructed as I type and the potential occupants are awaiting the jury’s decision.  I present a review of the facts:

The Defendants:  see above description of formal ‘goings on’ and add to that a certain spouse whose idea of justice is a pat on the arm with an issuant of ‘chill’ followed by intense cheerfulness and orange juice in the morning.

The prosecution (LOL, almost wrote persecution-fitting isn’t it): After hours of sprucing, spritzing, tidying, vacuuming, dusting, cleaning, arranging, grocery shopping, flower buying (for the dresser in the above mentioned room)-OH, and did I mention that in the midst of this the afore mentioned  defendant (know as ‘the youngest’) was hungry and client dropped everything to make a delicious pan seared, cheese topped, mushroom clad, sauce dripping French chicken dish with a pecan blackberry baby greens salad…for a snack–dropped into bed for a well deserved rest in preparation for a day of tour guiding and entertaining. What followed was not pretty and the resultant trauma from recounting the incident is almost more than can be born.

So, it will be left to the jury to decide…

One more thing…I should add that it was freakin’ humid-that alone is a crime.  I rest my case.