No way am I lucky enough for that to be a clump of dirt these days.
Seven days until school starts. I'm afraid even a mere seven days might be too long for me to escape with my sanity though. I had to shut myself in the bathroom for 10 minutes this morning to talk myself down from raging on Aiden for asking me too many times about what we were going to do today.
It was all I could do to not shout, "Nothing! We're never doing anything again. I can't function out of the house with all three of you for longer than 12 minutes without questioning my self worth, the purpose of my existence, and whether or not day care would be more expensive than what I would make if I got a job at the new gas station down the street on the 7 am to 7 pm shift because I think that would be more enjoyable."
I would never have chosen the bathroom to freak out in if I knew my children are sabotaging my safe place with poop. They are good. They are really good.
My Monday was really great with the kids. I'm not even being sarcastic. I felt revived from my trip and really enjoyed soaking up some time with the kids. We even did crafts together.
That's right, crafts. We had glue and Popsicle sticks and all that stuff. I was amazing.
Unfortunately, by the end of the day I realized I had spent the entire day just picking up their stuff, feeding them, and making pretend dogs and guns (because I am such a good Mom,) out of pipe cleaners and I hadn't had a moment to do any of my stuff. This left me feeling unsettled and frustrated. I felt totally selfless.
Oh how I hate that.
This is where I could go on and on about that eternal struggle for balance in my life. Where I yearn to devote my time to creating genuinely valuable moments with my children, but simultaneously feel able to have some time to work on my writing and reading vampire novels. You know, the important stuff.
I know what you're thinking. What about that super smart schedule Leslie?
Well, turns out you have to be really disciplined to follow a schedule and all that beeping coming from my phone really attracted the attention of Stella and I've been really busy picking up mysterious shit that I never planned into my days and I really hate myself when I'm waking up at 5 and going to bed at midnight....so I've sort of just quit the schedule and returned to the praying for a speedy start to school.
Oh and a nanny. I'm also praying for a nanny. Feel free to pray too.
I also keep replaying visions of the joy from when I was in Indiana in July, the amazing friends I have that have risen up to help and support me these last few months, and the fun images of my phenomenal trip to Vegas this past weekend. Thinking about these things helps to push me through these final days without abandoning my kids for a boob job and a hostess position at a Chilis in Vegas...since it appears you have to have a large chest to work pretty much anywhere there.
I would be a fantastic big boobed Chilis hostess.
Maybe I've just been over shooting my dreams all these years?
Thinking about all these things even brings me so much joy that I can stop thinking about where and when the next piece of shit will appear. I wonder if the Vegas Chilis gets lots of random poop lying around? That plan could be pretty damn good.
You are now probably wondering what all the fun things from Vegas are that I've been thinking about, right? If not, I'm going to tell you anyway so you might as well be nice and play along. It could be worse people, I did recently write a post about the heat last week, my brain is clearly fried.
Here are my favorite Vegas memories.
Traveling without children and feeling like the most free woman on Earth. I read two whole magazines, part of a book, and SLEPT on the airplane. I even went to the bathroom, whenever I wanted...in the non-handicap stalls. It was crazy! But...I still found myself sweating getting on and off the plane due to the crazy air temperature problems and managed to volunteer to sit next to a five month old baby that reeled me in with his fat cheeks. Stupid kids have some sort of magic powers over me. I'm weak.
Having the opportunity to wear clothing that I would NEVER allow myself to wear around my kids, including heels and strapless tops. I felt sassy and hip in my "going out" clothes. But...apparently most of the women in Vegas dress a tad bit like a prostitute so my sassy clothes really looked more matronly than hip. My lack of pizazz was accented by the fact that my size A breasts looked child-like compared to all the porn star boobs that EVERYONE had there.
Seriously, how is that happening?
I loved walking through the casinos and shops with my friends without any timeline, no one asking me for a snack, no one told me they were bored while we looked at shoes, and everything was purely for our own amusement. But...despite previously feeling pretty intelligent, none of us were able to navigate our way out of any of these buildings without the assistance of a hotel employee and the danger of peeing our pants from laughing so hard at how ridiculous it all as.
I felt young and attractive after showering and taking my time getting dressed to go out on the town. But...apparently I missed the young mark. We were called cougars. Seriously, cougars. Hysterical.
I loved the serious discussion my friends and I had about maintaining a buddy system for the duration of our trip, as well as acting as vigilant lookouts whenever we were drinking to assure that non of us were roofied by anyone looking like they might be interested in the older gals. But...despite all those Datelines we watched that told us otherwise, no one even attempted to kidnap or drug any of us. Lame.
Staying out dancing and possibly even taking a few shots one night until 4, in the morning, was beyond fun. But...I don't think any of us are made for that anymore, or for the giant pizza and bread sticks we consumed right before going to bed at 5. We were totally rock stars though. How are those people standing up?
We also saw an amazing show the last night called Absinthe. It was stomach ache funny and the perfect ending to our trip. But...I have been having nightmares about one particular act where a woman on roller skates is slung around by her feet and her head basically could explode against the floor at any moment.
Seriously, where is that girl's mother? I would be livid if I worked my ass of this whole time to keep Stella's head from exploding only to have throw on some roller skates and have a guy fling her around in a tiny unitard. She shouldn't do that. I bet her mom is very angry.
I could write more and more, but one of my kids is probably up pooping somewhere and plotting against me. I should definitely check on them.
Hope you all are having a good week!