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So you know when you were a little kid and the last week of school was the longest of all eternities and it would NEVER END? Or, even worse, the countdown to Christmas that went ONANDONANDONNNNNN, each day dragging and every morning waking up and realizing it still wasn’t here yet and how was that even possible? Yeah. That’s what’s going on around here right now with the whole we’re-moving-to-Utah-but-not-yet thing. I can’t even express how much I just want to be the hell out of here now that the cat is out of the bag. Each day is like a tiny little forever that I am forced to get through and I’m so tired and anxious that it’s just… well… I’m super glad my kids won’t remember these few weeks. It’s so HOT that we can’t really go outside and sometimes I’m just too tired to try to keep Louisa out of all of the things she wants to be into because I’m carrying Simon around because he is so tired that he’ll cry if I put him down but he’s not tired enough to sleep and OMG just watch Elmo for the love of all that is holy! So yeah. Lots of Elmo going on around here. And there is so much to do before we go, and so much to do after we get there, that I have worked myself into an anxious froth about it but at the same time I can’t really do anything about it yet because there is no time. My day begins at 6 am, I take care of two kids for 9 hours then bolt down dinner when my husband gets home at 5:20 so that I can start work at 5:30. I finish work at 9:30 or 10:00 and sure, I guess I could get something done then but are you kidding me? I’m a zombie by then. Sooo… tiredddd… must… sleeeeep. Oh wait. The baby is hungry. And awake. Sigh. And every Saturday for the past six weeks I have either been working or we have had people here (or BOTH for cripes) so by Sunday I can barely muster the strength to sit on the couch, you know? And this Saturday is no exception because it’s Louisa’s birthday so again, people will be here. Which, whatever. That’s cool. It’s her birthday (by the way, how the hell is she two years old? I could waste an entire other post about how fast THAT time went by) so of course I gotta make Elmo cupcakes and blow up a bunch of balloons because birthdays are special. And because despite the fact that I can see the deep end, that I’m about to go off, right over there (picture me pointing a shaking, exhausted finger), I love her cute little voice when she says “Elbmow” and I want to see her face when she opens all her little presents.

A couple of days ago I texted my husband “maybe when we get there you should just be a full-time dad for a while and I can work full time”. At the time I thought it was just a really good idea. We could all have breakfast together, people could work out, we could take the kids to the park or to do other fun things and then after lunch when the kids are napping I could start work. I could break for dinner and bedtime and then finish my shift. Brilliant! Perfect! We agreed to try it out while he looks for work and if it works out…cool. Yesterday while Louisa was sleeping I was begging Simon to go to sleep. As if reasoning with a three-month-old that “pleeeease… Mommy is soooo tired” is logical. Then I caught Louisa digging in the cat box again (with the scooper, people, not like with her hands but still, I know, so disgusting) and I could barely keep myself from losing my shit. She takes the thirty-second opportunities when I am up to my elbows in baby poop or baby spit-up or baby crying to do all the things that she knows we don’t want her to do. Two-year-olds! And then today while I was feeding Simon he pooped. So I went to change him. And he did his famous projectile-spit-up-all-over-the-bed trick. This kid. I don’t even know. Does he have a pyloric stenosis? Gastroesophageal reflux? The hell? Louisa spit up way more often than him but it was just a tiny amount at a time. This dude only spits up like every two weeks but when he does it’s as if he is rejecting everything he has eaten for 72 hours. So gross. As I was putting the sheets in the dryer, him crying in the background and Louisa whining for a cracker I realized – the text to my husband? A thinly-veiled cry for help. I pretty much can’t handle this anymore. The children have won and I am at my breaking point. I love these kids like nothing else but I need a king-sized break. We are leaving three weeks today. Hopefully I can make it that long.

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