No, things aren't normal yet

I have an icky, post-holiday hangover. Everything has been too much. I want to rummage through my drawers and cabinets, and get rid of the clutter. All sweets must go in the trash can. Old toys and worn out clothing must leave the house. I'm ready to get rid of the tree and box up the decorations.

I. Am. Done.

It's an itchy feeling, not having things where they belong. I need to have some organization. It's the German in me. Joel may be crying, and Owen needs me to find the special, purple van (which is the only acceptable van to play with despite the fact that there are 2000 bazillion cars on every flat surface of the house), yet I still find the time to put my silverware away just so.

It's been a stressful few days. I was at my in-law's house. Owen and his cousin (while, really, doing an admirable job for being two) were often on the verge of a turf battle over cars, Legos, books, oxygen, chairs, affection, etc...We all should have worn black and white shirts and whistles.


Joel was five months old, and generous with the late-night awakenings.

I was tired most of the time and attempting to show everybody that Nothing Had Changed, and I was just as capable of attending to conversations, using my mind, pitching in. I wasn't.

This morning, (still at my in-law's house) I woke up around 6:30 (Joel had been up at 4, and 6, and was snoozing again), walked into the kitchen, and mumbled something nasty and passive-aggressive to Paul. He told me that I needed to go back to bed until I could be nice. I complied, after some grumbling. Paul took Joel to the coffee shop, and some relatives watched Owen.

I slept until 9:30, then sat in bed, listening to the boys playing, the hiss of the sausage cooking, the sound of my sister-in-law chit-chatting with my father-in-law. This is the part of the post where I'm supposed to have some epiphany about how lucky I am to have family members that take care of me, and how much better I felt after sleeping in. But that would be a lie. Here's reality: I couldn't summon the energy to play nice, to smile, to play with Owen, to listen to "Fox and Friends" on continuous loop. I. Couldn't. Do. It.

So, I hid. I pulled the covers over my head and dreamed of quiet, sunny kitchens, with well organized drawers and spotless surfaces.



Totally gratuitous shot of Joel (see how he's sitting up now!)