Uncharacteristically, I woke up in a very grumpy mood this morning. Normally, I sleep pretty well and wake up raring to go, well, maybe not exactly raring to go, but at least with a clear mind and a willing body. After my morning tea, I am usually capable of starting the routine and getting dressed without incident. Today, though, I felt like I was dragging through molasses, and even those first sips of tea did nothing to revive me. I stomped out to the car like a grouchy bear roused too early from hibernation. My legs ached, my back felt more hunched than usual, and I honestly just wanted to curl up in the front seat, let the morning sun warm my face, and drift back to sleep, preferably until spring.

Like my mother, I can usually brush things off or find the bright side of almost everything. She had a knack for turning irritations into something positive and amusing. However, her influence was not working on me this morning. I was, to my own surprise, actually crabby, an adjective I have never before used on myself.

I started thinking about what might shake me out of this funky mood. Winning the lottery, of course, would take care of the bills and eliminate my financial woes in one glorious swoop. It is hard to believe that, at my age, I am still responsible for the living arrangements of two of my adult children with severe mental health challenges, both former foster kiddos who were so cute and lovable when they were little. As adults, with their complicated struggles, it has been sobering to see that the world is not always the kind and loving place I once hoped it would be for them.

They each receive Supplement Security Income of $1,006 a month, but that barely covers the basics. With their ongoing challenges, neither has a significant other to lean on, so they are left to venture through life pretty much alone, without cars or the other luxuries that many people take for granted. Thinking of their futures when I am dead and gone has added a heavy weight to my already cranky shoulders.

Hubby has also been exceptionally cranky lately, thanks to worsening hip problems. He is on the waiting list for a new hip, but in the meantime, the man who once happily puttered around the yard can no longer walk like he used to. Most days, he is parked in front of the television watching Bering Sea Gold or Wicked Tuna, (reminiscent of his old days of tuna fishing in Narragansett Bay,) and playing endless games of solitaire on his phone. The outside of the house is starting to show signs of neglect. The grass is so long that it is folding over on itself, and the plants are drooping without his expert care and watering. To top it off, he is no longer able to stand in the kitchen for any length of time, which means that the meal preparation has landed squarely on me, which is a disaster of epic proportions. Picture a grilled cheese sandwich versus Chicken Francaise. Enough said.

Okay, so maybe I have a few things which have caused me to be uncharacteristically grumpy. What can I do to snap myself out of it? I am thinking a winning lottery ticket, two wonderful significant others for my lonely adult children, a quick brand-new hip for Hubby delivered overnight by Amazon Prime, a personal chef who can whip up Chicken Française without breaking a sweat, and a gardener who sings show tunes while dancing around and watering the flowers. I would only see all that in my dreams, of course, so it must be time for
a nap.