My friend's mom takes a kickboxing class. According to her, one of the classes was so hard and fabulous it made her throw up. Which is not my idea of fabulous, but whatever.
So imagine my surprise when the dance class I was taking was so hard and fabulous it made ME feel like throwing up. I do not take classes which require that kind of exertion. I just don't. It's, you know, too much work. I left the class and sat by the front desk, while the other women watched me clutch my stomach and as a unit came to the conclusion that I'm pregnant. And all I can say is, thank goodness it's not up to them.
I'm just queasy and all that turning and jumping is NOT HELPING, despite the protestations of my teacher that the more you turn the less dizzy you get.
I'm not pregnant, it's just that sometimes my life makes me feel like throwing up. It's not its fault. My life is trying the best it can. But sometimes it can't keep up.
Mornings have been especially rough lately. Lucy's decided she's a teenager and will not wake up until the last possible minute. Mom, if you happen to be reading this, I'm sorry about all those times I didn't get up for school (and all the talk of throwing up - so unladylike). And I've been remiss in my evening duties so I scurry around like mad in the morning, making the lunches that should have been made the night before. The robot vacuum does not make lunches, as it turns out. In short, mornings are atrocious. I pull out of the driveway late and in a state of nervous collapse, carrying two lunch boxes, two school bags, a change of clothes, after school sport bags, a computer and my lunch. I shove it all in the car and close the door quickly so nothing spills out.
I close the door so quickly that sometimes I forget something. The other morning I was driving along and out of the corner of my eye I noticed Studley standing up in the back seat. Failing to buckle child into carseat = huge maternal failing. To which I say, at least I didn't leave him on the roof of the car.
Ahahahaha! Chris just this minute called me out to the dining room so I could nod in approval at the GAPING HOLES WHERE THE DRYWALL USED TO BE. The walls there are beyond all hope and need to be replaced. He's ripping down the old sheet rock with a crowbar and will, hopefully soon, replace it with new sheetrock and a nice fluffy layer of insulation (not in that order). What's the difference between sheetrock and drywall?
It's not all atrociousness and upheaval (no pun intended). We've been downstairs a month now and are pleased pleased pleased with the way things are shaping up (minus the gaping holes). We also love our upstairs neighbors and cannot believe a) they've been here a month already, and b) that they haven't always been here.
And we have a new client that we have a big professional crush on. They are forging ahead in a field that tickles us pink and we're delighted to be on board. It kind of makes us giggle. Professionally.
And our chickens are finally getting some feathers where once there were none, so I don't have to knit them bottom-warmers when the weather turns cold. It was keeping me up nights with worry. For more on my naked chickens, I invite you to visit Kristen's Q&A on her blog, Going Country. My questions are after the break. Yet another reason to love the internet - answers to weird chicken questions.
So yes, the world is fairly stomach-churning right now and I suppose it's no wonder if we find ourselves a little woozy from time to time. I think all we can do is know that truly madly deeply, all is well. And at the end of the day, no one was left on the roof of the car.