This was not the plan

How many times have we all said that?

This was not the plan.

This wasn't even the plan for this post. I want to have some great insight to offer about how to survive difficult seasons of your life because Lord, it has been a long one. To sit here on my bed, computer in my lap, and say something that will help uplift someone. But the truth is that I am only in my room because I am hiding out. My parents are downstairs and, quite frankly, making me absolutely insane. I cannot watch one more episode of "Pimp My Ride" or the other nonsensical shows that have been playing on a loop without losing my mind. I thought that putting the spare tv in the guest bedroom would encourage them to watch tv in that room. Oh how wrong I was. So rather than biting my already bruised and bleeding tongue, I am hiding out.

Disclaimer: I am very certain that my father doesn't even know I have a blog and my mother might know that such a thing exists, but she certainly has never read it. For those of you who may not have met them and worry that I am offending.

So here I sit, sipping my drink, and contemplating a way to share all of what is going on here in this circus of my life that will include words other than expletives. The long and short of it is, that the only thing to say is that the Ringling Brothers ain't got nothing on this. So I have traded in writing for diapers and bottles and another lap around the house with a fussy baby. And the most exciting thing in my life right now is that I have figured out how to make my Fitbit count my steps when I'm carrying the baby in my arms. For tonight that will have to be enough.

One day, one day, there will be a new plan. A plan with vacations and sand and road-trip sing-a-longs and enough laughter to fuel us forever. But for tonight this will have to be enough.

A tale of two houses

Do you know what the definition of insanity should be? Trying to move with a very active 6-year-old and a fussy 3 month old baby. Even more insane is when you're trying to move everything yourself over the course of a couple of weeks instead of just packing it all up and doing it in one or two days. Originally I thought that it would be easier since I could take things that were already packed and get them out of the way. However, that just means that half of what I need is at each house, and never in the house that I need it to be at in the moment. In hindsight, I might have been incorrect in my assessment of what it would take to move.

This weekend was the final push and everything is officially under the same roof. Of course there are 14 million boxes and my whole extended family running around so it is about as chaotic as you would imagine. There is a distinct possibility that at this exact moment, I am hiding in a closet in order to write. I wasn't even really looking to write anything profound, just get out whole sentences that weren't me trying to figure out what to feed the hungry people around me demanding to be fed.

Not that I am not grateful to those people, because I am. There is absolutely no way that I could have moved without the enormous amount of help from the people that came to pitch in. I am just also incapable of making any more decisions at the moment, even if it's just what we want to be delivered, pizza or Chinese.  So I'm going to sit here in my quiet closet for five more minutes and do nothing in the glorious silence before I rejoin the land of the living. I'd stay a bit longer, but I forgot my glass of wine, and I'm a girl with priorities so I guess I shall have to head back out for now!

Pop-tarts and world peace

Through the years I have found that I tend to go in spurts. There are times where I am really on the ball, writing every day, blogging a couple times a week, checking in with my people often, and keeping everything balanced. During those spurts I feel invincible. All is right with the world and tiny birds hover around me singing as if I'm in a Disney movie. Okay, that might have been a slight exaggeration but it's pretty close.

THIS is not one of those spurts. I haven't sat down to write in well over a month and I'm very certain that I have friends who are cursing my name because I have been terrible about responding lately. (I am so very sorry if you are one of those people. I promise I'll try to get better soon). There are 12,000 sticky notes littering my notebooks and desk, most of which contain things that I have still forgotten even though I wrote them down.

I completely forgot that it was the 100th day of school until the day before; of course I had volunteered to send in fruit loops long before my life got crazy. After returning home from the store (where I got many important things like a new hooded sweatshirt), I realized that I had still forgotten the fruit loops. So we stopped at Kroger on the way in to school where I instantly became the coolest mom ever because when you're 6 years old, pop tarts and a hot cocoa from the in-store Starbucks is the BEST BREAKFAST IN THE WHOLE WORLD.

I feel very strongly that we could take a cue from the children in the world.  Can't we cure the world's problems with a nationwide trip to Starbucks and a sugary pastry? It solves most of my problems. And aren't all problems basically the same, just on different scales?  Perhaps someone should let the president know that we just solved that one for him. I mean, it may not fit into the whole fitness plan that his wife has implemented but I think we could all use a little more processed sugar in our lives. Don't you agree?