I think my Guardian Angel went on strike.

At first I thought my G.A. had died, but then I thought that was too morbid - besides, aren't angels supposed to be around forever?

Now- you may be wondering what makes a person think that their Guardian Angel has died; let me tell you. Two Fridays in a row of something not so nice happening, and an entire WEEK of awful; pretty much convinced me that my G.A. had died. Or at least gone on strike.

Last Friday (the one BEFORE Halloween) had a series of rather unfortunate events that just felt like the beginning of the end. It all started on Monday. Now, I like Monday. It's a good day, and I don't generally have much to do with the house still (most of the time) being clean from the weekend. This particular Monday though... Mr. Snicklebutt was out of town. Not too abnormal, he returned that afternoon. And left again on Tuesday. I stayed home from work on Tuesday so that I could be with the little Snicklebutts; Tuesday night - thinking I would get some sleep - it never happened. Each of our three little ones got up sometime in the middle of the night. Two of the three went back to sleep. I will, however, admit freely that the couch is NOT meant to sleep three people next to each other - no matter HOW small they may be! The third little one is two. She was up at 6:30 in the AM and didn't want to go back to sleep. Needless to say... Work Wednesday night (I work from 10 pm through 2 am) was a killer. Thursday, Mr. Snicklebutt got home to a very tired wife, who left for work shortly after he got home. And then... it was Friday.

I should mention that I clean toilets at the Portland Oregon Temple (men's locker room) for a living, and while most of the time the toilets aren't terrible, all week last week someone had left a mess all over three of the three toilets that I have; and the three urinals weren't much better!

Back to Friday. I found an excellent place to purchase pumpkins, and while at work, volunteered to get pumpkins for the other 7 people on staff. All in all, I needed to take 25 pumpkins to work Friday night, and we had a family halloween party to go to. So... I asked Mr. Snicklebutt if I could take his truck. I am NOT a tall person, and I drive a Toyota Corolla. Mr. Snicklebutt drives a Dodge Ram 3500 Dually. I don't see so well when I'm driving his truck. After much admonishing me to "Don't Wreck the Truck..." I assured him that I knew what I was doing, and that all would be well... and then, I drove out of the driveway and PROMPTLY demolished the side of his truck. I hit the mailbox. The unmoveable mailbox. The mailbox won. The truck now has a major hole in the side of it. My name is now... MUD.

Add to that minorly major disaster, and work was an adventure all on its own. I had a light burn out in the locker room... where it had previously been on. And I walked past another custodian vacuuming and then walked past his vacuum (twice) and the cord of his vacuum spat sparks. I know that this was all NONE of my doing, but it sure felt like the world was in her own personal conspiracy!

Saturday was a better day. In fact, the week following the truck incident was pretty good. Until Friday. We had a church Halloween Party/Chili Cookoff (which I was late to, so my chili didn't get into the judging...). On the way home, I turned the corner and heard a soft "KaThunk". I immediately pulled over and checked the trunk to see if there was hot chili all over the back of the trunk. And... there was. And it was hot. I suffered 1st degree burns scooping the chili out of the back of the car and on to the side of the road. It looks like someone tossed their chili on the side of the road. Shaking out the rag so that I could continue mopping only served to get chili into my hair and all other surfaces not protected by clothing. I had a measly 1 quart left of delicious chili out of the entire 10" Dutch Oven... I'm protecting it with my life.

I was half an hour late to work.

Maybe my Guardian Angel just doesn't work Fridays... If my G.A. doesn't come to work next Friday, I'm going to have to officially fire him.