|"How's about you and I pour a glass of wine and canoodle over a mockumentary?"|
I thought I'd take a timeout from thinking about attempting to think about climbing the Everest that is painting the bathroom.
Yeah, it makes my brain hurt too. Especially the part where, instead of sitting in front of my laptop and drinking coffee, I'll be trying to decide whether to shoo them away or just paint over the spiders living in the corner behind the toilet.
Someone with eight legs is getting ready to rock a new shade of Old White in an eggshell finish. He'll go great with burlap throw pillows.
There's something about August that boasts a very unique sort of exhaustion. It hints at cooler weather around the corner, the children's failure to be impressed by the pool, and the certainty their fights will stretch into November.
As my swim shorts and I stretched out in the baby pool the other day, reflecting on the shreds of summer swirling around seemed like a great distraction from counting the stretch marks the sunlight had missed, my dreams of being the next Miss America giving way to a new dream of being Mrs. Elasticity of Yesteryear.
Mental Tally of Summer:
Pool toys left: 0
While the effort was put forth to buy decent toys for the kids this year, it didn't change the fact the baby was playing with half a Tupperware and stirring the water with a stick.
Swim suits: 3 sort of
Brightly colored and fitted suits had become faded, stretched, and there was the very real possibility I'd stuck one of them in old tuxedo bottoms from a wedding last summer. I was tired of looking for suits.
My initial enthusiasm for fun, summer recipes had faded into a mutual respect for Peep candy dug out of the sale bin. I gave myself an extra point for dumping the Stouffer's baked ziti into a decorative, earthenware dish.
Frosted animal cookies eaten: 1,538
I had an inkling it was only a matter of time before I looked down and my left thigh will have broken out in sprinkles. Jiggly but delicious.
There are raves more organized than the unidentifiable crap trying to roll under my gas pedal. I once had someone look over my shoulder and peer into our traveling cave.
"Oh, did you get in an accident?"
I nodded. "Yes, but I'll never let the kids build their own burgers back there again. My mama didn't raise no fool."
House: Ready to sell by 2089
Almost done.We only had one door to replace, eight walls to paint, a new piece of bead board to put under the sink, and to figure out why the electricity shut off every time we looked at new houses online.
Stress level: 8
This wouldn't be so bad if the above score hadn't been measured on a scale of 1-5.
Boxes packed: 300
After a futile day's effort to see around them, Husband and I agreed to build our own box forts and only visit each other on Saturdays or if one of the kids needs to go to the ER. My box fort is cooler. His has a slide.
Might just trade for his box fort.
I miss him.
Times we've bickered because the whole situation is exhausting: Trying not to keep track. Possibly 21.
Times we've made up and re-bonded over a Shark Week special that turned out to be a fake: 1
But we're both equally irate because of how emotionally invested we were. "All those people killed by that killer shark. I don't think I can even sleep."
Text from Husband: I found out it wasn't real. I'm pissed.
Text From Me: Discovery Chanel a**holes. I mourned those fake people all night.
Instances where I might have to paint over a spider: Unknown
But I'll find out. The bathroom's calling my name, and the kids are playing nicely in the dog kennel, so it's time to get to work.
Until Next Time, Readers!
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