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Well, it’s Friday of the shortest (and longest) week I can remember. I’ve been busy tying up lots of loose ends and haven’t really gotten around to packing.
We leave Sunday. For Ireland. The kids are coming. That’s a lot of packing.
I’ve been so preoccupied this week that I’ve:
- Put my underwear on inside out. Twice.
- Forgotten to get the treats for a work meeting.
- Spaced ordering my mom’s Mother’s Day gift until it was too late to get there on time. (Sorry, mom!)
- Ordered and paid for coffee then left the shop without taking it with me.
- Done numerous other stupid things I can’t remember. I’m preoccupied.
However, it was all for a good reason. I’m proud to be a part of launching this Web site, which is actually functioning now. (Its official kick-off date is Sunday, Mother’s Day.)
If you click on the link to the Daily Juggle, you’ll find me and 13 other moms blogging about the craziness that is parenting. My screen name is 3isthenew2. There are lots of great writers participating, and I’m really proud to be a part of it.
I’ll be blogging there from Ireland. I am not sure if I’ll get around to updating this site while I’m gone. If not, I’ll be back after Memorial Day.
I am tired of yelling at my kids.
I am tired of cleaning the clutter, only for it to reappear minutes later.
I am tired of eating my dinner in front of a computer.
I am tired of this stupid swishing sound in my ears.
I am tired of my list of things to do, which never get done, partly because I am so tired.
I am tired of being tired. So tired. All the time.
Really, really cold. Below zero cold. It has been for two weeks — except for a teasing two days of springlike 40s, which only made me feel worse.
I know I’m a Minnesotan. I’m supposed to be hearty. But it’s starting to get to me. I’m irritable with Ed, with the kids, with my mom. I don’t feel like doing anything except pulling the covers over my head and sleeping until it warms up.
When I left work last night, my nostrils instantly stuck together, and the wind felt like a thousand stick pins were being hurled at my face. Our less-than-two-year-old car groaned like me in labor when I started it. The tires crunched over icy patches, and the joints of the car creaked in the silent air. Freezing cold air makes everything sound louder, even my internal screaming, which is getting closer to becoming external with every frigid day.
I’m sapped of creativity, energy, motivation. I feel horrible because it’s Ed’s birthday (happy birthday, hot stuff!) and I haven’t done anything to make it special. But I swear I’m gonna suck it up and get my shit together Saturday, which is when we’re celebrating.
The only thing that is going to get me through the next 20-some days is the fact that I just booked a plane ticket to see a dear friend in San Diego. I need to feel the sun on my skin and breathe in air that doesn’t make my nose bleed. And spend some time with my girls — the ones who know me so well I never have to apologize for being me.
Even if that me is a cranky, exhausted, incoherent mess.