The end is barreling down on us: just a day and change to go. I can't tell if I'm glad or terrified by that, but come it quickly will so I guess I best just go with it.
Let's be honest, people. Terrified is tipping the scales right now. Cue the wine pour.
The children are vacillating between angelic loves and rabid loons. Tics I'd thought were long gone are making irritating resurgences. The "heh-heh-heh" constant cough from Ol? Making me batshit crazy because it is SO fake and omnipresent. Also, he has a bizarre chafing on the side of his face in which the first four of his cavities were filled. Swear to god, I have zero tolerance for a latex allergy.
As an aside, did y'all know that when cats drink from a bowl, they take mini-breaks with their tongues? It's like lick-lick-lick-fake lick and repeat.
I'm taking breaths where I can. Today that meant a 6-mile run in drizzling rain as well as crafting multiple raffia bows and using Stickles pretty glitter to make Thank You tags that much more special.
A) My legs are like, "Shit, girl. Too far." But really, Some Nights and, then, Raise Your Glass (Fun./Pink) came on, and I was like, "Shit legs, this playlist is the bomb." And there you have it. Plus, I did register for that damn race, so I best get my training on.
B) Raffia bows. Raffia is an underrated craft material. It looks like something homespun from natural fibers in a fantastic shabby chic way. And then. You can stretch it to a thin, papyrus width which makes it both infinitely more elegant and fun AND all the more homespun and natural. #winning
C) Stickles. One of my top three favorite Paper Source finds. Wanna bedazzle any paper good with a bit of flair? Grab a squirt bottle of Stickles and dot away. It's upscale glitter glue y'all, and boy is it fun. A glittery golden dot at the top point of a stamped star? Fabulous! I needed those shiny little stars today.
In spite of escapist running and crafting fun though, the lows, regressive behavior, tics and generalized mayhem right now are just fucking exhausting. Tears spurt forth randomly as if I've moved into a convent of pubescent gals. I can say that because I was one. And I know.
Tonight, after many hours of loving bonding (by which I mean SO MUCH togetherness), Oliver's face crumbled, the tears poured forth as if that kid pulled his finger from the damn dike, and he begged me to "get my kitchen back." The one Santa brought three years ago and had not been played with in two. The one we sold for $50 and replaced with a pimped out, made-for-small-spaces "office" because Oliver said, "I have work to do!"
Meanwhile, Lunatic the Elder, having spent hours waxing rhapsodic about the magical and singular experience of 3rd grade, proceeded to fall apart in a spiral of angst + ennui. "I'm OVER IT, Mom. I'm over 3rd grade."
I attempted to make him a nice dinner, but after freaking out over black beans and a pluot, it became clear that sleep was the only solution.
Scab face attempted to sneak out of bed under the guise of being "unable to cool off." He was just fishing for me to say, "Get naked, honey." So, I did. I just said, "Take your darn underpants off if that's what you want, man."
And then I seared the heck out of some filets while masterfully keeping the insides nearly walking for T and much less so for me. And making a freaking awesome brown butter succotash'ish thingy for our side and messaging wildly with writer friends.