Losing my mind

There are piles of crap around my house everywhere. EV. ERY. WHERE.  I’ve been washing old clothes, sheets, stuffed animals, toys, shoes, you name it, trying to get everything nice and presentable for the yard sale.  This stuff isn’t junk, and I don’t want people looking at it like junk.  It’s good stuff, some of it with tags still on it (!!) but we have to get rid of it.  So, making it look as nice as possible is important.  Everything’s being sorted and cleaned up, and since there’s a mountain of stuff it’s taking, you know, A LONG TIME.

And then there’s pricing.  It’s a yardsale, so everything is cheap.  But how cheap is too cheap?  Are we selling ourselves short?  Should it be $1, or $2?  Great debates have been going on in every room of the house.  Bryan’s first question is, “But how much did we pay for it when we bought it?”  My reply: It doesn’t matter.  It’s a yard sale, and everything must go.  I don’t care if I bought it for $100, I want to get rid of it, and someone will pay $2 for it.  Am I right?

And don’t even get me started on the girls looking at the box FULL of stuffed animals, crying because they can only choose 5 to take with them when we move.  Are you kidding me, little children?  You didn’t even know those things existed before I pulled them out and washed them.  You cannot have an emotional connection over something you just discovered 3 minutes ago.  Stop with the crying.  Seriously.  Because an argument can be made that keeping 5 stuffed animals each is overkill, and I will quickly change my mind.

In other news, we recently found out that the moving company will be coming in to box everything up and load it themselves.  Say what now?  Evidently, if they come to the house and there’s stuff in boxes that *they* didn’t pack, then it won’t be insured.  Anything in boxes that’s broken or damaged will be our problem.  Anything that we’re concerned about getting broken has to be left out so they can pack it when they get here.

Okay, now that’s just crazy, and you have no idea how much stress this is causing me.  I have to just leave stuff out. I can’t pack dishes or pictures or electronics or anything that’s fragile.  I can only pack clothes, books, craft supplies, and bedding.  I’m not sure if I can handle that.  I mean, I’m sort of panicking right now.  It goes against every fiber of my being to leave this stuff in the cupboards and hanging on the walls until they pack it up.  You would think I’d be happy about it, but no.  It feels like a lazy thing to do, and my ass is moving in high-gear, so leaving stuff out is making me want to kick someone.

This is all bringing back terrible memories from the last time we moved.  I hate moving, you guys.  I hate it so, so much.  And knowing that we’re going to an apartment is just killing me: because it’s an apartment.  Hello.  We sure won’t be staying there forever, so at some point we’ll have to move again.  ARGH.  

The best worst weekend ever

Yesterday we went to take family portraits.  I had to stay up late late on Friday (after work) to make the girls some dresses for the pictures, so I was really tired on Saturday morning.  When we got to the picture place it took awhile, and then it took awhile before the proof sheet was ready, so we did some shopping for the party today.

The kids started to lose their shit after awhile, since they’d gone to sleep late on Friday, and woken up early Saturday.  Truth?  Bryan and I were doing our best to hold our shit together, too.  The kids hung out in the car with Bryan while my mom and I looked over the pictures, so we could finally, finally leave.  We were ITCHING to get out of there. Looking at the pictures and deciding what to get?  Took over an hour.  I almost cried.

By the time we were done it had been hours and hours since we had gotten up — we were all exhausted and hungry.  We grabbed a quick bite, dropped my mom off, and headed home.  I took a nap for a solid 3 hours.  It was not nearly enough, but at least I had some energy to get more stuff done.

So I got up, and started cooking.  I made 36 deviled eggs, about 12 pounds of German potato salad, a pineapple upside down cake, and a hummingbird cake.  I was up until 4am.  I know, right?

A side note about the hummingbird cake — I had never heard of it, but my mom ordered it for dessert at the restaurant on her birthday.  The next day one of my magazines came, with a recipe for the cake.  I’m insane, so I offered to make her one for the party.  It has three layers.  I only had two pans.  It took awhile.  I’m a good daughter, and one crazy mo-fo.

I’m still not done with everything, though.  I have one last minute dish to throw together this morning, to be cooked at my dad’s (green bean casserole).  I’m debating taking a shower before heading over — god and everybody is supposed to be there and I want to look nice — but I’m thinking I can probably skip it.  I’m just too tired, and I don’t care if I head over there smelling like onions.  They’d better smile, like it, and eat my damn cake.

All I ever do is bitch and moan

That's what if feels like, lately.  You may not want to hear (read?) this, but man have I been puking a lot lately.  So much so that my abdomen is sore.  The worst?  When we were out running errands and I had to vomit in a public restroom. A) grody! B) very hard to maintain dignity, and C) difficult to do discreetly.  There was a lot of flushing involved.

For the past two nights in a row the neighbor's dog has woken me up with its barking and howling.  This is not the first time we've had this problem with them.  It pisses me off to no end -- once I'm up, I'm up.  There is no going back to sleep, so the next day I'm a bitchy pukey mess.  I have considered spray-painting some obscenities on the side of their house, because I'm vindictive like that.

I did finally manage to pull myself together and make a skirt for Charlie, she gets another one (and two for Phoebe) very shortly.  They are so quick and easy and are so dang cute it gives me lots of satisfaction (between the puke sessions).  I'm making them in solid cotton colors (grey, navy, red, dark green) so they'll match just about any shirt they throw at them.  It gives them a preppy/uniform-y feel, but cute nevertheless.  Pictures to follow shortly.  Of the skirts, not the puking, I promise.

Dear fetus

Dear fetus,

Let's have a quick chat.  Seeing as how we're sharing this space, we need to work some stuff out.  The tired I can handle.  Naps are fun, so bring it.  But the puking? Has. To. Stop.  Seriously.  I didn't even puke this much when I was pregnant with Marissa, and that's saying something.

And right after I've just downed a refreshing glass of cherry lemonade?  Mean. 

You have plenty of time to mess me up, just wait until you can use my bladder as a punching bag!  So, let's take it slow.  Mommy likes to eat. 

With love,
Your mama

If you need me, I'll be sleeping

I'm a big fan of naps.  They are so underrated. I usually set aside at least an hour a day for naps (because I'm selfish).  Lately though, I need at least 2 hours, and sometimes 3.  Three hours!  Even still, I'm yawning up a storm and tired way down in ma bones.

I blame it on the fetus, and also switching to decaf.  It is kicking my ass, people.