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.
3 comments:
I had a bunny named Snowy as a child as well. One day I woke up and he was gone. My parents told me that they dropped him off at a farm so he didn't have to live in his little cage and could be free. It wasn't until we were eating dinner one night when I was 24 that it came out that he jumped out of his cage and they found him dead on the floor, so buried him in the backyard. Traumatizing to know that for years I was running around on his grave thinking he was enjoying the sweet freedom of farm life.
Oh my gosh!! I was definitely a teenager when I overheard my mom telling someone how the neighbor's dog killed my rabbit and it was awful, and I was all, "WHAT?!" Yes, even at that age, I held on to the belief that Snowy's babies were prospering in the Irish countryside.
holiday + move = total utter exhaustion. not to mention you have ethan - you pretty much amaze me, erin.
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