Sunday, November 27, 2011

worn out.

The arrival of Sunday brought candy cane oreos for breakfast, the desire to cross Christmas photos (and cards) off of my list and the subsequent realization that it's a great thing I started this now, because there is a strong possibility that it will take me until next June to get a good one. ONE.

After some snapshots that significantly raised my gray hair count, I decided to can the idea and start laying things out for the cruise.  I am most undecided on one dress that I really want to love, but I'm afraid it does not want to love me back.  I'm either going to get really brave and attack it with my sewing machine, or I'll save it for the skinny girl in my future.  This is code for the girl who isn't sustaining a baby in my future.  If my brave ego gets the best of me, I'll toss up a prayer and wing it with some serious tape, and then hope no one bumps into me.

So, newfound camera allergies aside, I have still managed to get nothing done.  Things are about to start moving at a scary fast pace, and I'll be rudely thrown into 2012 and left to wonder where in the world 2011 went.Twinkling Christmas lights make our house a brighter place, but they don't hide the piles of laundry or the gifts to wrap, or the suitcases to pack and the paperwork to gather.  I am determined to tackle all of it tomorrow (minus the packing; that's slightly ambitious) so I can sit down and relax.

Have I mentioned the random acts of kindness we have yet to complete, the scarf to finish, and the project I'm slowly working on?  Thank you cards?  Or how about the seven hundred pictures that are being sent my way and must somehow be organized after sending various groups off?  The laundry?  Working out?  Instead, I daydream about calmer days, a new home, and what the future holds while I think about all that I should be doing instead of that.  It's exciting anyway.

My nerves are shot.  And thanks to a three year old who suddenly doesn't know volume control along with her sister's teeth wreaking ears are also shot.  Sanity is next; I hear my bed calling.  No, more like yelling...and demanding.  Must put monster baby to bed.

Also, it's nearly impossible to have baby fever when your baby is not quite nine months...right?


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