But it Hasn’t Been Real Fun

This will be week number two without getting a mental health day for this mama, and I’ve been so spoiled getting to go that on the weeks that I don’t, the build up starts to happen.



I need my safe space to cry, to break down, to trust that there’s no judgement in what’s about to come out of my mouth, and to tell someone that isn’t biased because she’s a friend or family, she just wants to help. She wants to give people the right tools to get through the day when life just keeps sending the right hook and upper cut shots.




Our house has been in pieces with stuff everywhere for far longer than I expected while we fill nail holes in walls, put up fresh paint, and redecorate as we finish.




Our laundry routine is simple. One basket strictly for dirty diapers, and a rolling rack with three bags on it for sorting purposes. A bag for Brett, a bag for mine, and one for the kids’ clothes. The towels stay hung up until I’m ready to do a wash day for them. Each bag/basket gets washed, dried, and put away as it gets full or someone starts to run out of clothes.



Insanely simple.



Until it all gets mixed together and put into a mountain on my bed.



There‘s a pile of everything from everyone on my bed that’s partially folded and somewhat put away. This is the second time that more than one bag/basket has been washed, dried, and put into a pile for me to take care of.



The kids are at each other’s throat, even with Luci having started school. Jax doesn’t start for a few more weeks.



Brett attempted to update plugs and light switches in one of the rooms we’ve finished painting and it lead to our AC deciding it wants to keep popping breakers. In both boxes. Because we have two, and there’s one in each that plays some sort of roll with it. This morning it was one breaker and it let the air blowing in turn warm and the house be 77 degrees. Mid afternoon the breaker in the other box popped and we went from dropping three degrees to being back up to 75.



The dog ate two crayons, my favorite headband, and a wet bag. (She has 24/7 access to food, before that becomes a thing.)



Someone brought me home Orajel mouth sore pain control instead something for the toothache I have that’s being brought on by exposed nerves. Don’t worry, they can see me Tuesday. Until then, take Ibuprofen. Just kidding, pregnant ladies can’t do that. Tylenol it is.



We have something big going down today but I have chosen to stay mum about it until it’s all said and done, because this is one thing I refuse to jinx right now.



I’ve spent the morning gagging and dry heaving because, well, being pregnant makes my smell tolerance -3,206. I slept with my mouth open and if that didn’t cause enough of a problem it was raining when I let the dog out to go potty, so it smells highly of fish, and that is a no bueno smell for this lady.



Luci decided yesterday that being quiet and listening in school is very “bored” so I expect the calls to start any day now.



My box of powder tide spilled onto the floor. A week ago. It’s still sitting there, in a heaping, but slowly shrinking pile as I take small scoops to do a load of laundry here and there.



We got groceries yesterday and it took too long so we got home late, letting me leave the groceries in sacks in the sun room waiting to be put away.



Let me just go ahead and add, that aside from wanting to cry a lot, I’m really not doing so bad. It could be worse, and I pray we don’t make it that far.



Things always get better, we just have to be patient in the storm. Dance instead of hiding.



Pray. Even when things are the hardest. He’s still listening, watching, waiting for the perfect timing. Big things are coming.






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