These past days I’ve been buried in domestic activities because apparently I can’t justify going to the mall for just a ‘walk’ without coming home with a couple of things that according to my husband “I already own”. Who made him household police anyways? …and for the record, I do need another lipstick.

All these domestic activities made me re-evaluate my perception on the rain. Because, no matter how much I force myself to enjoy cleaning the toilets, I can’t seem to end up mentally and physically calmer by the end of the day. And the reason I could contemplate throwing myself into deep cold water is due to the fact that I believe my two-year-old is focused on torturing me.

She can’t stop playing the annoying maraca-dog.

I don’t want to sound harsh, but whoever designed and created that f**ing maraca-dog she loves to play over and over, he or she is going to be added to my “people to hunt in their sleep when I’m dead” list. And while at it, I’ll throw my sister-in-law in there as well, who thought it would be hilarious to receive this doggy of hell via my toddler’s birthday.

“More Maraca-doggy, mommy?”,  my little one asks one more time. Out of politeness because no matter the answer, she hits the play button before she can hear my answer.

So yes September, you sucked. You were supposed to be warm, sunny, and dry. And I wasn’t supposed to be tortured, not at least by another month.