I feel the need to get this post in today. For two reasons, one, my last post is a meme in which participation requires sending something arty to five people and I have my five people lined up now; and two, I'm afraid in the next 24 hours or so I will be puking my guts up. I'm not 100% sure about the last part but I have my suspicions.
This has been such a crazy week. I was excited to be feeling myself again on Monday after 5 or 6 days of a minor nervous breakdown due to the three-pronged punch of Paul being gone for eight days, sleep apnea therapy issues and, last but not least in impact, raging hormones. Monday brought renewed success in sleep and relief from hormonal distress. With renewed optimism I faced my week only to be attacked at every turn by issues with my daughter's school play, cookie dough from the fundraiser coming in and needing to be distributed, a forgotten birthday party, some unexpected babysitting and a crick in my neck which feels like a steel rod has been shoved in my brain and I can't get into the chiro's office until Tuesday.
All the moms from my daughter's class are running around with what I'm calling eyes. Costume this, cookie dough that, Christmas shopping, Bar Mitzvah preparation--one mom commented that she'd never seen so many of us going going makeup-less with our hair in ponytails. Another mom laughed and said they we've seen more of each other than our husbands and children.
This sounds like a big complaint fest. It really isn't. In fact, I'm laughing--in a dar humor, morbid sort of way--at the sheer absurdity of it all. I am so relieved that we are on the reduced Christmas shopping plan because then I would have to add to the list... "and I haven't even begun to shop!" I think I just need to get it all down in words so I can look back and see that I wasn't crazy; Life was crazy and brought me along for the ride--kicking and screaming!
But the piece de resistance; the icing on this absurdist cake; the proverbial straw that might break the mama camel's back: a stomach virus. Like a California brush fire on a Santa Ana winds day, a 24 hour stomach virus is sweeping through Marley's class. Three moms, one teacher, eight kids so far have been burned. The play is next week. The play will happen and turn out great, or the play will happen and be a complete fiasco or the play won't happen. There's nothing we can do about that. But I don't want to vomit. I can't stand vomiting. Everyone who knows me knows that I don't want to even hear that someone was spewing because I will get sympathetic stomach pains and question for days if I am getting it. And usually I don't. But I'm spending so much time at the school trying on mouse heads, getting pirate socks, cutting the fingers off gloves, making notation of sound cues so Paul can run sound for the play. It seems inevitable doesn't it?
This morning I was poking around online. Mysecretennui posted The Brutally Honest Personality Test. It is so hilarious, especially if you are familiar with the Meyers-Briggs personality types. If you can't take a healthy dose of harsh sarcasm, don't go there. My personality type is lovingly referred to as the Scumbag, so you are forewarned. (If you don't want to bother taking the test and just want to read the descriptions, click on Scumbag. The other descriptions are below it.)
Anyway... where I was going with that tangent is as I was reading, I felt some hunger pangs. I was surprised because I just came from breakfast out with a friend. Hmm... I said to myself. Why are you hungry? Then came the sinking realization that it might not be hunger but the beginnings of the virus. Now, I am definitely feeling something but is the kind of clammy feeling I now have because of fear of the worst or is it the worst? I don't know. What I do know is that my house looks like an entropy experiment, Marley and I are supposed to go see her friend in The Nutrcracker tomorrow, Monday is the last sound rehearsal before the first of five performances of Mr. Eliot's Cats presented by the Multi-Age Class. And Christmas is 9 days away.
The final irony is that my faith in God is actually getting in the way of my praying to be spared from the wretchedness that is a stomach bug. I start to pray, "Lord, please don't let me throw up" and I immediately think of all the other wonderful people who've been throwing up the last few days and is there any reason I should escape the puke-fest and they didn't? I also start thinking about all the real tragedy and pain in this world. How can I focus my time and energy asking for God to spare me from a 24 hour bug? So, I settle on a prayer which includes all this philosophical angst and end it with, "...but if I don't get it, I will be so grateful" and then hope for the best.
I guess that's all I can do for now.
Sunday morning. Well folks, so far so good. I haven't thrown up. Marley hasn't thrown up. Paul hasn't thrown up. After I wrote this yesterday, it suddenly dawned on me that the most indispensable person in our family to the big production of Cats is Paul. If he can't run sound, it will get a little sticky. Oh well. In the meantime, following a link at Frog and Toad are Still Friends, I bring you which movie my Christmas is most like:
|Your Christmas is Most Like: A Charlie Brown Christmas|
Each year, you really get into the spirit of Christmas.
Which is much more important to you than nifty presents.