The Days of No More . . .

I am a little torn here.

Ellerie starts preschool today, and I don't know how to feel about it.

Part of me wants to do the happy dance at the thought of 2 hours that are mine, all mine, each day of the week.  Picture Daffy Duck with his duck arms laden with gold shouting obsessively "Mine! Mine! MINE!  All Mine!!!!"  Yep.  That would be me.



Daffy Duck in Ali Baba Bunny . . . Looney Toons . . .



But there's another part of me that will miss my little imp.

No more will I get to have a lunch date with my girl where we share a ketchup and dip our fries in at the same time so that they touch.

No more afternoon butterfly kisses or backyard picnics with 72 barbie doll babies.

No more choke hold hugs of excitement when I propose an afternoon walk or bike ride.

No more Ellerie to color my afternoons.

Sigh.

I am smack in the days of no more and it's enough to make me curl up in a ball and cry under my blankie until I remember . . .

No more will I discover permanent marker tattoos on her booty when I have to wipe her bottom.

No more will I find her "sharing" her afternoon pudding cup snack with the dog.

No more will I walk into the bathroom to find her plastering panty liners to the wall and declaring it artwork.

No more will I find crayola marker pictures on my floor to ceiling mirrors.

No more will I ever find Ellerie in a sea full of bubbles just after she poured bubble soap down the heating vent.

Yep.

No more afternoon hurricane Ellerie.

I think that I could get used to this.

And I better line up one great gift certificate for her teacher. 

She is going to need it.

The One Where I am a Shit

I confess.

I have been somewhat a pain in the ass to live with this week.

What with worrying about my dad and his health and raging PMS hormones to boot, I have been a walking, talking pimple faced she devil.

Not pretty folks.

Not pretty.

I even (unknowingly) picked a fight with hubs not once, not twice, but probably every freakin' day this week.  Not huge fights, mind you, but fights like, "You loaded the dishwasher wrong!" 

Never mind the fact that hubs was actually doing the dishes.

That fact, the big one, I could not see.

Instead, I picked at him about his time spent at camp with the basketball boys and his time spent at his 2nd  job and his time away at golf.  

And now that my hormones have calmed down and I am not so preoccupied with worries, I am riddled with guilt because I realize that I have been a shit.

I have been a shit. . .

and  . . . the man still loves me
and brings me my coffeein the morning just the way I like it,
and takes me for chocolate peanut butter ice cream just because,
and plays with the kids in the pool so that I can read a book,
and he loves me.

I am such a lucky girl.

Such.a.lucky.girl.

Seriously.


*****Linking to PYO with Shell.****************

I Want To . . .

I want to read blogs about real, grown up people all day long, and I want to comment without abandon.

Instead, I read about cows that type and cows that go on strike, and I realize that it is pretty sad that I am actually jealous of the cows, their typing, and especially of their strike.



Picture compliments of Amazon.com



I want to escape to a warm, tropical place where I can drink a fruity drink poolside without hearing the  Dora the Explorer soundtrack.

Instead, I have an indoor picnic due to the mass amounts of snow and ice outside.  I sit at my coffee table and sip watery lemonade poured sloppily from a princess tea set . . . with the Dora the Explorer sountrack playing in the background.

I want to get gussied up for my hubs (and for me), go out to a fancy restaurant, drink adult beverages, and come home with enough energy to play (wink, wink!) for a few hours.

Instead, I don my best jeans and old navy tee, go out to a wing joint for wings and beer,  bring the kiddies along because there is a playroom and the kids eat free, and come home to collapse in bed with my clothes still on.

potterybarn.com

I want to have a living room that rivals a living room from a Pottery Barn catalogue.  I want an area rug that beckons bare feet,  artwork that inspires creativity, and a giant defining piece that anchors my furniture grouping.

Instead, I have a lived-in room that rivals the aftemath of a tornado.  There are goldfish swimming on my carpet, there is a 3 year old's permanent marker artwork on my wall, and there is a  broken, giant clock anchoring the wall that forever reads 5:51.


I want to play Wii Dance Party with my kids.  I want to listen to their laughs as I attempt my best 'running man' dance move.  I want to ignore the mountain of laundry that threatens to stage an avalache if I do not thin it out.

Instead, I play Wii Dance Party, I relish my kiddie's laughs, and I ignore Mt. Laundry for the time being.


I want to listen to my kiddie's adventures at school. I want to hear about hubs' day at work.  I want to hang on their each and every word and experience the day through their eyes.  I want to ignore the fact that it is 6:15, tummies are gurgling, and there is no dinner in sight.

Instead, I call Dominoes.  I let a homecooked dinner go. We have pizza and play Monoply.  All is right in my world.


My insteads . . .

My life. . .

My balance. . .



I love it, and I wouldn't change a thing.

******I am linking up with Mama Kat's writer's workshop this week.  The prompt was finding balance.*******