Cruel and Unusual

Good morning. This morning, the next door neighbor's gardener actually beat S to the wake-up call. I'm up and at 'em.
Yesterday, I enjoyed the rare trifecta of experiences not sanctioned by the Geneva Convention. Worse than water boarding. We've already studied the sleep deprivation techniques practiced by children. This adds to their torture repertoire.
After breakfast and treadmill (which kicked my butt):
I mentioned my Himalayan laundry piles earlier this week. Monday, I really got on that and did it ALL. Yesterday, I carried up a heaping basket of clean laundry and was sorting it on my bed. S reaches across said laundry basket, tries to get a sippy of milk, and takes down 16 ounces of Coke Zero (my preferred after-work out hydration). On my bed. Ew. On the white carpet, natch. On the dust ruffle. And, in order to completely send me over the edge, a big heap of CLEAN laundry. I cried. S cried. Cruel.
Lunch:
I discovered a new pet peeve. I was at a self-serve cafe yesterday, (in itself a peeve) and I was refilling S's drink, when a woman came up behind me and started filling her cup with ice. WAIT YOUR TURN. The ice will be there, the cup will be there. Your food won't be exactly waiting for you by the time you sit down. "Excuse me," I say. "It's okay," says she. Grr.
Now, I should mention that we (S & I) went to aforementioned cafe early in the lunch rush. S would not cooperate while dressing, so he wore flannel fighter jet pajamas, backwards bulldozer pajama shirt stained with yesterday morning's water coloring fiasco, uh, project and Crocs. He looked awesome. Especially when he decided he HAD to pee, stood up, ran across the cafe barefooted into the men's room. I grabbed the shoes and followed, too late. The people waiting in the self-serve line stared (another reason not to like self-serve--lots of witnesses with nothing else to do but stare at the crime you're about to commit.) S comes trotting out of the bathroom, barefoot (ew) announcing his successful urination. I chastise him using my "public mom" voice of sternness without threat and we retreat to the table. Unusual.
Last, and not to be overly dramatic or anything, but impossible to overstate--A person on hold with a physician's office awaiting a refill on psychotropic medications should not, and I mean should NEVER be subject to Barry Manilow's Copa Cabana as hold music. Ever.
Cruel and Unusual.