Cranky Day

I hereby decree today to be Cranky Day. Some might choose to recognize Flag Day, but I assure you, it is also Cranky Day—one of those up-and-down days punctuated by ill temper.

This morning Ben graduated from kindergarten. The ceremony was cute, and Ben was in the middle of the front row—helpful when there are upwards of 150 kindergartners on stage. (Hooray!) But we were all sardined into the folding chairs, and the air conditioning didn't keep up well with the crowd. (Cranky.) And whenever I was about to take a photo of Ben, somebody in front of me would reposition themselves so that I could get a great snapshot of the back of their head. (Cranky.) Then it was time for cake. (Yippee!) But the lines to the cake tables were mayhem, and they ran out of plates, and I ended up carrying three tiny pieces of cake for me, Mr. Tangerine, and my mother atop a single napkin. (Cranky.) But the cake was pretty good. (Yum.)

Then we went back to the classroom for distribution of miscellaneous awards. (Hooray!) Still too crowded and warm. (Cranky.) Then it turned out that families could either leave the kid there for the rest of the school day (as I'd expected) or take them home—and Ben cried because he wanted to go home with us. But I was scheduled for a haircut and highlights in 20 minutes! (Cranky.) So Mr. Tangerine took Ben home and delayed going to work for a couple more hours. I made it to the salon on time. (Yay!) And then waited for 10 minutes while the colorist finished up with another client. (Cranky.) Then I got my hair done, and along the way, I saw my mother's face staring back at me in the mirror. (Cranky.)

I zipped back to the car, checking my phone on the way—and saw that I'd missed a series of calls from Mr. Tangerine because the ringer was still turned off from graduation. So I called him, and he was cranky because I hadn't been answering my phone. (As if I'd been choosing not to answer it, rather than not aware that it had been vibrating in my bag.) He was still so cranky when I got home, it exacerbated my off-and-on crankiness and put me into an actual snit. (It is so very difficult to be sweetly conciliatory and apologize for inconveniencing someone when his opening gambit is to be snappish, isn't it?)

Then it was just about time for Ben's age-6 pediatric checkup. "Ben, turn off the game and brush your teeth. It's time to go." He was, shall we say, lackadaisical in his response. (Cranky.) Eventually he moseyed along, and we were only a couple minutes late for his appointment. Then we had to wait numerous times for numerous minutes. (Cranky.) But the doctor was very nice, cautiously thorough. (Hooray!) We were there for a hair over two hours for a well-child visit. Two hours! (Cranky.) So long that our parking meter had expired, and we were five minutes into a rush-hour no-parking period. (Cranky.) But we didn't have a ticket. (Hooray!)

I think I've now exorcised the Cranky Demon, but it's possible he will return before the night is through. Have you got a surefire method of shackling the Cranky Demon? If so, please share.