Preparing for a holiday and a pretty big move by myself is tiring, turns out. I've officially dubbed this "Mommy's Ghetto Christmas," but Ethan doesn't seem to mind, God bless him. Word to the wise: masking tape won't hold up twinkle lights for very long.
I can't pinpoint how much of this is exhaustion, how much is stress, and how much is related to the amount of 30 Rock I've been watching, but the other night I found myself slathering expired mayonnaise on a turkey sandwich and yelling at a blanket.
That, and how much my appreciation for the cat* has increased lately, convinces me that if I hadn't already snagged Noah, I'd be in serious trouble right about now.
*I use the singular here because I haven't seen Sophie in over a month. I'm telling myself that she found some other place to live and love, the way my preschooler self came up with the idea that my bunny, Snowy, ran away to have babies, instead of what really happened, which was the neighbor's dog dug under the chicken-wire rabbit run and broke her neck.