And I’m burnt out.
I’ve deleted and rewritten several times and hesitated posting. Whatever. I’m throwing my own little pity party and it is embarrassing to invite you all but come on in. Not every day is a dance party, right?
So, word to wise – Never, ever try to be ambitious when you know your sanity is teetering the edge.
Extra efforts go seemingly unnoticed, unappreciated and they manage to suck any excess energy I had, once fueled by good intention. Come on, kids! This will be FUN! Yes, it looked like an excellent sensory craft to pass the time but instead of my (nearly) 3 year old happily gluing puff balls to create an underwater landscape, I’m spent trying to explain why she can’t stick the puffs on her sister and regulating the blatant waste of $6 worth of glitter.
…and for good reason. Otherwise, I’m certain I’d be one chubby and lazy lady in no time.
Let me tell y’all how amazing my husband is.
Hub can cook. And he does it well. He makes the most amazing French crepes topped with fresh strawberries, blueberries and real maple syrup. Secondly, he deals with diapers. I know a lot of daddies won’t even change a diaper let alone change, prep and wash cloth diapers. Thirdly, he loves spending time with our kids.
And when a Mother’s Day/Birthday combo comes around, he pulls out all the stops to make sure this Momma has no cooking, cleaning or child-tending to do.
Which is awesome.
After enduring and (barely) surviving what shall hereby forever be known as The Worst Week of My Adult Life, today was exactly what this worn out Momma needed. Sun, friends, a new iPhone and early bedtimes.
We joined my friend Mariah and her clan at Jekyll Island to celebrate her little man’s first birthday.
Her boys and my girls match up pretty closely age-wise. The older two play quite well together when E isn’t breaking sticks over Miles’s head (during which he sits quietly, enduring the beating like a true little gentleman). The younger ones explore independently but I envision those two troublemakers sitting and scheming up some antics to torture their older siblings in very near future.
If we are Facebook friends (as I’m sure most of us are), you know that yesterday someone smashed my car window and swiped my diaper bag containing my wallet, iPhone, B’s EpiPen, medicine for B’s current hives, and various souvenirs from life with two little girls.
It happens, we live in Savannah. Although beautiful, poverty and crime is through the charts. It happened in broad daylight when YMCA members are constantly coming and going. I was parked in front the door, in sight of the main desk. I was in the building for less than 5 minutes. But it happens and I should have known better.
The things are just things but I feel so violated. Someone took something of mine because they thought they were entitled to it. That I didn’t need it. That they somehow had the right to shatter my property and steal. And then run away.
One of my dearest friends is due next month with her second sweet baby and since we find any excuse for a party, we threw her a fun little shin-dig this afternoon. We had popcorn and cake pops and jalapeno poppers and soda pop and many, many lollipops. Because she’s about to pop, you know?
The food was a-ma-zing.
Three of us planned the shower but by comparison, I contributed barely anything (mostly because everyone realizes I often can’t be trusted with the most simple of tasks) but I did make these delicious nutella cupcakes.
When I tell friends that I started a blog, most respond with a nod as if to say, “of course you did. It was only a matter of time,” accompanied with something along the lines of “So, what are you going to blog about?” Well, dear readers, I would love to tell you what neat little pocket of the blogosphere I will fit in. Really, I’d love to. After reading for a while, maybe you could tell me. But if you know me, you will agree that I am quite the Jack of all trades, master of none. As a mother and wife, my roles and interests are always changing based on life’s happenings and I’m sure that will be reflected here. Through it all, I try to keep things light, humorous and fun. Otherwise I’d just sit on the couch and cry which is none of the aforementioned.
When we moved to the south in March 2010, the weather was perfect. Warm sunshine, light breezes and cool evenings. And then June hits and the sun becomes–
Hold that thought.
Hubs and I had to join forces to kill a rogue palmetto bug that was scampering across our living room floor. We’ve become quite the bug killing duo since moving here. When we lived up north (side note: “up north,” apparently, is a phrase only we transplant southerners use to refer to any state north of North Carolina), bugs are only found in the homes of hoarders, dirty college kids and the occasional farmer (but only because it hitchhiked in from the barn). Here, you learn quickly that living in the south means you will have bugs – regardless of how neat and tidy your home is kept. If you are like us and have lots of oak trees and live near the marsh, you might as well set up a little bug-sized doggy door and leave them little buggy treats to snack on.
It’s been two years and six months since I last tapped my fingers against a keyboard and produced any sort of intelligent, coherent document. That last time, in October 2009, I was a working mother of one with a pretty good grip on life. Now, after moving to the deep south and adding another sweet girl to our brood, I’ve realized it’s dangerous to get too comfortable and a tell-tale sign that things are about to get real interesting, y’all.
I’m a perfectionist, which I’m sure is why I have started and deleted no less than three blogs in the past 3 years. Is it common to delete, rewrite, delete, edit every sentence that is typed? I’m sure; writing is a muscle and Lord knows mine is quite atrophied. So bear with me as I retrain these muscles to focus, think and create.