I’m referring to the crabbiness that isn’t just crabbiness but borderline rage about things that may have annoyed me five weeks ago, but now seem to make me nearly murderous.
Daughter 1, why do you drink from that water bottle that gurgles? And why do you drink from it every few minutes? No one needs to be *that* hydrated.
Daughter 2, must everything you say or do be a veiled way to annoy all your siblings? Who suffers most when they are annoyed? Me. Not them. You may be seeking revenge on them, but you’re punishing me.
Dog 1, you’re barking to go out and come in and go out and come in. Constantly. All day long. I get it. You want some alone time. Don’t we all? But, you know what’s worse than being constantly cooped up together? Being cooped up together with piercing barks in the background!
Dog 2, it’s no longer cute that you never cease to push your slimy tennis ball onto my lap repeatedly 15 hours a day. I understand obsessions. I’m obsessive, too. But right now, I’ve become obsessed with a way to get a break from you.
Son, you’re arguing about everything, and you’re overreacting. Yes, you are… Yes, you are… YES, YOU ARE! I know you don’t think you are, but I assure you, you are trying to turn everything into an argument. And, you know what? You’re also overreacting to every little thing. How I can be certain you’re overreacting? Because I am doing the Exact. Same. Thing!
Refrigerator, why do you have a wretched smell that will not go away, even after I spent two and a half hours taking everything out of you, washing each shelf, and scrubbing you down? There is nothing rotting or stinky in you. So why do you smell? Why are you doing this to me??
Husband, why do you always tap your coffee grinder six times on the counter each and every morning!? Could you tap it five times once? Maybe go nuts and try seven.
And, you know what? It’s not actually the coffee grinder tapping that makes me want to kill you… if you’re home, that doesn’t mean that while I do all the schooling, meal planning, and cleaning, you can exercise and then go “poop,” getting time all alone to play on your phone for a full hour. I haven’t had a waking hour to myself in over four #%&*@ weeks! That is not fair. And, your cover story of pooping doesn’t fool me for one minute. All humans have the same bowel anatomy. If you really need an hour to poop, I’ll have Instacart rush you some #$%&^ bran cereal, and you can join the rest of us in the torture that is our current schooling situation.
So… yeah, we need a name for this. Covid-Crabbiness doesn’t begin to describe it. Quarantine Rage doesn’t have a nice ring to it. After consulting with friends, we’ve chosen ‘Rona Rage. If you’re suffering from it. Identify it. Call it out by name.
We will get through this… as long as my family doesn’t chew any more potato chips in front of me. That we won’t get through.