...wet socks...

Right now I should be proofing the speech I'm giving tonight. 

Right now I should be sitting across from Mister Man, seeing to it that he stays 'on task' with his homework.

Right now I should be tackling the dishes, putting away the leftovers and cleaning the counter. 

Right now. 

Right here.

Checking in from the bed, instead.  Propped up on pillows, laptop cross my knees, I'm over here on a self-imposed  timeout that not even the cat dares disturb.  Because less than 5 minutes ago I was well on my way to an epically stupid rant of a temper tantrum.  Yup, full-scale arm-flailing nonsense-yelling dish-tossing temper tantrum. 

Over

Socks

Ok, in my defense the socks were wet.  Well, not at first.  At first the socks were dry.  The dry socks that I just put on as I was finishing getting dressed for (that speech I'm supposed to be rehearsing) my presentation tonight.  The dry socks that moments later should have could have would have been going (still dry) into the boots right past the kitchen. 

The suddenly sopping wet kitchen.

See where I'm going with this yet? 

No?  Eh, neither do I.

Instead of putting dry socks in boots, I walked right into it...literally...and thus, wet socks.  The spilled juice that was only half-wiped up when my unfortunate socks decided to finished the job sponge-style.  You know that shock you get when a drop of rain slips right past your hat/hair/collar and gets you right in the back of the neck?  Suddenly wet socks in the middle of your rush to change feel just like that. 

And they will make you yell.

Or yelp?

Nah, yell. 

Cause yelping usually doesn't include profanity.

And I totally did.

Thus, self imposed timeout.  Wet socks still sponging away in the middle of the kitchen floor where I left them.  Left them after literally screaming my head off whilst yanking them off my feet.  Left them after letting loose with the mom-rage...that pent-up tight-lid crapola that has absolutely nothing to do with anger and everything to do with being utterly exhausted with no hope of reprieve. 

Ugh.

Mom Fail.

Wet Socks.

Right here.

Right now.

Mom Fail.

Just. Stop. Screaming! 

I think the flu drained my reserves...of patience, and sanity.
Yeah, that, that's what I'm going with. 

~Leanna

...365...

I wrote in my son's lunchtime note that we're already 10 days into the New Year today, and followed it up with "only 355 more to go!" and a smiley face.  What can I say?  The coffee had yet to kick in, and the early wakeup was killing my vibe.  The whole getting up in the pitch black thing will do that to you, especially when it means the heat hasn't turned on yet either.  Ugh!

Note to self: stop whining and change the thermostat settings.

How is it 2017 already?  I swear, I got sidetracked somewhere between Halloween and Thanksgiving.  After that, it was all a blur.  December was literally a 'check off all the things' month, with holiday gatherings, travel, concerts and funerals.  Somewhere in there we opened gifts and ate food but honestly, all I really remember is being exhausted. 

   

Truth be told, we haven't even gotten round to our making our resolutions list for 2017.  Granted, we spent the first 8 days alternating between bed and recliner in the full grips of flu-pocalypse '17...but, this slow and steady climb back to something resembling healthy energy is taking longer than I would have thought possible and I'm finding it far too easy to just put off until tomorrow what would require too much effort today!  Those resolutions?  Eh, give me another week or so...

In the meantime, I still can't get the taste of 2016 out of my mouth! 

~Leanna