Sometimes a girl's gotta vent.

Warning: this post is not full of the holiday cheer. It's pretty frickin' depressing. Read at your own risk.


Also...today is the last day to enter my giveaway! So go there if you want a happier post.
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Sometimes my world seems like too much.


And lately, this is the case. You know I love my job. A lot. And I adore my boys. All three of them. A lot. And I really like to craft. A lot.

But right now, I feel like there's too much of everything and I'm hanging on by a thread. A teeny tiny floss thread. Not a big thick rope thread.

The boys have both been sick for days and days. I reluctantly started G on antibiotics (I hate antibiotics, which may or may not be a post for another day) and he doesn't seem to be getting much better. His symptoms? You name it, he's got it. Copious amounts of snot. Productive cough. Clinginess. At least the vomiting has stopped. And I'm grateful for the lack of fever.

And sleep? The boy just doesn't believe in it. Seriously. In the last 24 hours, he's slept SIX of them. Naps are for suckers, according to G. He's lucky he's cute. Because? He's also started hitting. Yesterday, B redirected him, and the little shit walked over and smacked ME!

Then B had a stomach bug on Thanksgiving. Ladies, the Man Stomach Bug is even worse than the Man cold. 'Nuff said, am I right? So we ate...wait for it...frozen tacos for Thanksgiving dinner. Womp, womp, womp.

And of course, it wouldn't be a holiday if L didn't start puking. He's come down with the same virus? Infection? that G has had, and has been stressing me out with his lack of eating and energy. Of course, even though he has the exact.same.symptoms as G, I diagnosed him with cancer/anemia/hypothyroidism/you name it.

And my house. Oh you guys. My house. Partly because of the fact that we are trying to make a shift in the focus of Christmas, and partly because of financial issues, I am making 90% of our gifts this year. The result? Canvases, paints, paintbrushes, Sharpie markers, Sharpie paint pens, wooden blocks, and various other craft supplies littering my house. And because I'm hyperfocused on getting!crafts!done!, the rest of my house is suffering.

I'm not dealing well with it. With any of it. I'm not comfortable putting it out on the web just how poorly I'm dealing, but suffice it to say, it's not pretty. And then I get down on myself for worrying about these stupid problems when my boys are actually relatively healthy. When I have a house. A husband who loves me, even when he's whiny about a stomach virus.

But then? Then, first thing this morning, I have a first grade student come to me, sobbing, because his friends are telling him that The Polar Express isn't real. And not for a single second did I think he was being ridiculous or that his problem wasn't valid. Because to him...it is. So I held his hands while he told me his story. I hugged him and let him cry on my shoulder. And I walked him down to the library to read him a few pages of The Polar Express, promising a few more if he has a good morning.

It's easy for me to show compassion to other people. I need to show it to myself.

So if I'm not around commenting, or Tweeting, or heytelling, or blogging, you know I'm most likely under a mountain of Sharpies and barf buckets and kleenex and acrylic paint. So send prayers. Or a maid.

Namaste.