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Boy Howdy, I’m Depleted

7

July 26, 2010 by Marj Hatzell

I don’t even know where to start, so I’m just going to tell you everything. Which means fifty percent of you just clicked through or hit your back button or switched back to playing farmville and the other two of you will scroll down quickly and skim the whole post. Which means I’m just gonna write a bunch of fluff and at the end, in the very last sentence, I’m going to be all, OMG IT WAS THE BEST MARITAL RELATIONS EVERRRRR!!!! Just to see if you are paying attention.

See?  That just brought two of you back.  Score one for the little guy.  Girl. Erm.  As you were.

When I get drained, depleted, exhausted, wiped out, _______ (insert favourite synonym for EFFING TIRED HERE)   I find I need to put the brakes on for a few days. I need to simplify. I need to do what’s abso-smurfly necessary and skip the rest.  Basically, if we have clean clothes and some food in the fridge? We’re golden.  I skip the laundry, don’t really cook (Bug Boy can make P Jelly sandwiches and Bugaboo can live off of Protein bars and raisins for a few days), skip e-mail, don’t answer the phone. I just spend time with my kids.  And with myself.  Sometimes I notice when I’m starting to fray at the edges, if you will. (And if you won’t, Shut up, I’m having  a moment here.). Usually I don’t know and someone has to tell me I’m being a complete psychopath.  Usually that lucky person is my husband and he really doesn’t appreciate that job very much.  I’m not sure why. Might have something to do with the things thrown at his head and the crying…hmmm…might be on to something.

This weekend I think it all finally hit me. Could have been the visit from Aunt Flo.  Or maybe it was the fact that I’m still getting a lump in my throat whenever I think of my beloved dog dying.  Or it was the unexpected call I got from the vet saying that her ashes were available for pickup (I don’t know why I did that, just couldn’t bear the thought of the other “disposal methods” and wasn’t gonna bring her home to bury in the yard, not when I have a digger for a puppy. Because. Ew.).  Maybe it’s the fact that Bugaboo is off until next Monday and he has been . Or the gosh-awful weather, the one-hundred-four-degrees-and-sucky-humidity-followed-by-thunderstorms-weather.  Or the fact that I’m still thirty pounds over where I was nearly two years ago and it’s really pissing me off that I am stuck where I am (though still not overweight, but close to it and still in crappy shape). Or?  The fact that I’m starting to panic about the home and school stuff I’m doing in the fall. Or all of the freaking dogs I watch and will be watching this summer.  Or the fact that I’m bringing home a puppy in about two weeks. Or the babysitting I’m doing this week.  Or the money or the house or the bills or the parents or the family or the in-laws or the husband’s job or the or the or the or the…

BOOM!  That’s about when my head explodes.  I start to lose it. The husband comes home, sees me staring into blank space, notices the boys acting out Lord of the Flies in the backyard and is all, “Okaaaaay. Let’s get takeout!  Here, go take a hot bath, and here’s a glass of wine and Oh!  No worries, I’ve got that, too.”  See, a girl can only take so much.  A fragile little flower like myself (STOP LAUGHING) can only take so much on her TOTALLY AWESOME, BEST PART OF HER BODY REALLY, shoulders before the world starts caving in around her.  And I’m the glue holding it all together in this family. I have to hold it together. Without me together? There is no together in this family.  It’s a tall order to fill.

There are a few things that patch it all back together.  Quiet time.  Sudoku.  Reading a book. Snuggling with the kids in bed when we all first wake up.  A great glass of wine.  Hot  relations in the back of the car with my husband.  A good date at our favorite Mexican place with the best freaking margaritas ever.  Smiles and giggles from my boys. Staying in our jammies all day on Sunday, refusing to answer the phone or the door or do anything but goof off (We fed the dogs, no worries, friends I’m dog sitting for).

Or all of the above.

And this is just how we roll around here.  We go all wild and crazy and then patch it together and then go wild and crazy and patch it together and back and forth and back and forth until…How many weeks is it again until our yearly anniversary weekend?  Because that helps, too.  It helps because we sleep and eat and sleep and eat and sleep and sleep and eat and sleep some more. And then we eat.  And then we get some sleep.  And…well, you get the picture.

And puppies. Puppies make it better.  And in two weeks, puppies will make it much better.

Yes, I am insane.

7 thoughts on “Boy Howdy, I’m Depleted

  1. Favorite with a ‘u’? Are you Canadian now?

  2. Rebecca says:

    Goddess, just in case you don’t see it — that is how we all hold it together. Hubby woke me up at 1:15 AM, as in the middle of the night! to a puddle around the frig! So crazy. . . patch. . . crazy . . .patch. It is the way of the world. Thanks for sharing so we can all feel normal.

  3. Amanda says:

    I thought everyone did the crazy….patch……crazy….patch pattern. Isn’t that what life is? Sometimes there’s just more crazy that needs patching than other times.

  4. RuthWells says:

    Back of the car? You go, girl!

    (Hugs.)

  5. Would you stop calling it ‘relations?’ I think you need to watch that Ludacris video again. 😉

    You, as usual, have 10,000 things on your plate. The occasional meltdown doesn’t seem worrysome. It seems normal. Regardless, they suck. It sounds like you have a great simplification plan and an uber-supportive husband. And that’s going to make you feel better really soon. And if it doesn’t, something furry will!

  6. Green V-Neck says:

    First of all, puppies NEVER make it better. EVER. Jammies, smiles, giggles, anniversary weekends away, yes. ALWAYS. Hugs to you and yours.

  7. Wart uwagi weekend dla dwojga pomorskie. Wart uwai weekend dla dwojga pomorskie.
    – Jesteście pewni, damy? we dwoje weekend – spytał wątpiąco von Egger.

    Opierał się o
    zaporę podejrzanej szopy na podgrodziu. – Jehtem – odparł sir Roger, względnie w żadnym razie, z
    racji trzymanej w zębach
    dratwy. Owczy zewłok był mnogi. Musiał taki istnieć, żeby umieścić w osobiście ful siarki, saletry, węgla drzewnego oraz dodatkowo ze trzy
    funty hufnali. Wprawdzie przekwitłe klechdy zalecały wyłączni.

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