My husband came home last night to find a few disturbing signs:
- Furniture and/or rooms moved around (again)
- New doorknobs on the bathroom, the pantry (formerly known as the linen closet) and the girls' bedroom door
- And me cooking; furiously whisking up a honey mustard glaze, with every other burner firing on the stove.
In the past, this sort of behavior usually meant one of three things: someone is sick, dying or having a baby.
Although I have ZERO intentions of becoming "the oldest pregnant blogger" and shut your mouth for even thinking it [shiver] in this case, having experienced the other two (in just one weekend) I seem to have gone into some freaked-out and totally irrational form of nesting.
Aaaaaand, if you've ever experienced any of those things (especially, at the same time) I feel it safe to say we ALL deal differently with suckage (of which, cancer sucks hairy donkey balls).
Some folks scream, cry or beat the hell out of drywall, like it owes you money AND yes I have done ALL of those things.
Because, IMHO, internalizing that shit is toxic.
I also clean house (figuratively and literally) while simultaneously attempting to mentally and physically purge myself of…you know…suckage.
Lately, however, I've been internalizing a lot of shit: which means the house is very, very clean AND organized.
Aaaaaand, while cleaning out the girls' closet (for the eleventy-hundrendth time) I found a couple of old photo albums, then I lost my shit.