Mama Says If You Don't Have Anything Nice to Say...

Go tell your Mama to suck it.

Its been two weeks and, apparently, I still have nothing nice to say.

I'm still stressed.  To the MAX.

I have one particular email I keep trying to respond to but it seems the only words that come from my fingers stem directly from Chicken Little's overly dramatic tendency to scream THE SKY IS FALLING, THE SKY IS FALLING! except with a heaping helping of bitching thrown in for good measure. 

And there is something seriously wrong with my internal monologue because every time I think maybe I could pick up the phone to call them, instead, all I do is second guess whether or not said person has either the time or desire to speak to me.  Probably because all I seem to do lately is sigh dramatic exasperations while letting my head fall into my hands and how exactly do you parley that over the phone?  I can see it now, they'd be all, "Oh, you've got problems?  Ha ha ha!  What first world problems you have!  Let me tell you about what's been happening over here while I'm busy saving your pretty world..."  And there'd be the town drunkard in the corner, holding up his frothy beer, pounding his fist on the table while shouting, "HERE HERE!"  Because, yes, even in my inner monologue, the town drunkard must be against me.

Self Deprecation 101.

I had a front row seat my entire childhood and, oh my word, do I sound like my mother, lately!

The move is happening during the exact same week Jeremy will be out to sea.  Can you guess who planned it that way?  Go ahead, guess!

I specifically asked.... "Hey!  Can you not plan the movers to come at the same time you're away?  It'd be super great if we could tag team the kids to keep them either occupied or out of the house those three days.  Plus, when I get overwhelmed, I'll have you here." 

So.... he calls up an hour later saying, "The movers are coming on these dates and I asked that they drop off our stuff just over a week later."

Oy!  Those crickets.  Such deafening bastards. 

In that moment all I heard were crickets chirping, drowning out life as, once again, I lay my face in my palm.  I'm thankful for the crickets in that moment because usually my first impulse would be to ask, the kindest way possible through gritted teeth, if he could walk right back into so-and-so's office and change those dates to something less stupid.  But I didn't ask.  I wrote the dates on the calendar like a good little wife and here I continue to stress.

I know I have friends who will jump up and wave their hands, offer to take the girls.  That's what I would do, too.  But somehow the thought of someone coming to rescue me, again, after all I went through this past year.  I'm over it.  Somehow having someone virtually stroke me on the head on this here internet while purring out soothing comments is much less damning to my ego then when it's done in person.  In person I have the knee jerk reaction to pipe up, Oh! I don't need help, I'm okay! in my most chipper voice, because having someone both think I need help, AND THEN ACCEPTING IT, just makes me feel even more pathetic.

Then.  THEN! After the movers come, I can choose to turn my keys in the next day and live in a hotel for a week!  Or I can pull out the sleeping bags and the pack-n-play and camp out in an empty house for 5 days and hotel it for 2.  The bitch about either scenario being enjoyable is RUBY!  My sweet babe who has me up already tonight at 1:30, 2:30 and 3:30. 

[The first two times I gave her Bunny, laid her back down and walked away.  The third time I tried bringing her into my bed because its been a while since she's woken up every hour like this and all I have are flashbacks of Lydia refluxing and I never knew.  So I brought her into my bed.  Where she decided it was play time.  Up until I continued to make her lay back down, which only made her scream some more.  This time in my face! I tossed her back into her crib at 4:00 and decided to type up this here rambling while leaving the dear babe to work it out for herself.  YOU'RE WELCOME!]

Can you imagine my sweet Ruby?  Cast away into the perils of sleeping in a pack-n-play?  WOE IS THE BAYBAY!

If we camp it up at home, I get to listen to her screams echo though out the bare walls.  But at least she'll be in a separate room!  With doors between us!  If we stay in a hotel, I may have a comfortable bed to sleep on, but (1) who's going sleep with all that screaming going on and (2) who's to stop me from the full fledge meltdown that will definitely follow trying to sleep in the same room with that monster child?  Clearly it ended well the last time we tried.

So.  Ya.  That's what's going on in my life...  and in my head... and don't you wish you could have all those minutes back that you wasted away reading that nonsense?

Me, too.