messy me

I'm a Mess with a capital M.

But really, what can I expect?  The girls and I have spent 17 of the past 20 days away from home, having sooo much fun with cousins, and getting far too little sleep. As Courtney says, the kids have been on a 3 week bender. 

Like all things in nature, what goes up must eventually come down, eh?  Well, we're officially coming down.

As in crash, boom, bang.

My house is a wreck.

My remodeling project is upside-down.

My kids are a double-whammy-super-duper- MESS.

My patience is away on vacation.

My kitchen is a disaster.  Not the dishes-need-to-be-done-and-the-sinks-need-to-be-cleaned kind of a mess, but a real, live everything-needs-to-be-emptied-out-and-scrubbed-from-head-to-toe kind of mess.

My body sort of hurts. 

My clothes do not fit (and yes, I know that "Wow! I've popped out all of the sudden!, " so if you see me you don't really need to mention that).

I might be feeling just a little bit testy.

I cannot sleep.

If the cabinet man postpones our project one more day I'm going to kill him.  (Except we're not really ready for him anyway, but I can still be mad, right?)

I am not one bit ready for this baby to arrive (the nursery is stacked to the ceiling with remodeling junk, and the little guy doesn't have a darn thing to wear).  Except I don't think I can wait another day.

The windows are so dirty, we can barely see out.

Our closets are in need of a go-through.

School shopping is on the list.

The lambs are too fat (due to our neglect, I'm afraid).

Ryenne and Claire are having their tonsils out tomorrow and it's going to be fun, fun, fun.

I lost my temper this morning after the girls got in their forty-ninth fight of day.  Now Claire asks me every 10 seconds, "Are you a bad mom?"   In reply, I say that I try to be a good mom, but sometimes I'm not.  And then she looks at me with a serious look and repeats the question.  Just keeping me humble, I guess.

The garage is in such a state that it may need a stick of dynamite to resolve the issue.

Mostly, I really wanted to be ready for this baby.  I wanted to be organized and clean.  I wanted to get my projects done so I could sit back and relax when he gets here.  I wanted to spend my days doing special things with the girls, end the summer with a basket full of idealistic memories.  To put it simply, I just wanted my life to be in control.  Neat and orderly and put together.  I wanted to dot my i's and cross all my t's. 

(And yes, I know.  The baby won't care.  He won't even know the difference.  It's just this fantasy nesting thing I do when I get pregnant.)

It's crazy.  Consuming.   And a little bit unrealistic.  To be honest, I think I can be fair in blaming about 95% of it on hormones. 

But I still want it.



I know.  I'm being a whiner.

About nothing that really matters.

But it makes me feel better to write it down. 

And then I'll do better.

I'll be happy.

I'll smile.

Maybe I'll even laugh today.

And I'll remember that there is no such thing as being in control.  It doesn't exist for me anymore.

But my life will go on anyway.

My current messes will eventually morph into new ones.

My family will survive me, and we'll all grow a little in spite of ourselves.



And tonight, at the end of the day?

I'll get on my knees.

I'll thank my Heavenly Father for all of it. 

And I'll mean it.