the usual with tea, 2.

GEG-featured-imageIt’s Friday, the final day of February 2014. I wake up to voices chattering on NPR. And wind. I can hear the straight-line gales careening around our house, my neighbor’s windchimes crashing into each other. I shuffle out into the kitchen and mumble to the hubs about an annoying message on my phone.

I’ve felt unwell for the past three days. Hoping for improvement today. The 6yo girl and I are scheduled to attend a tea party at our church tonight, and I’m not feeling up for it. It takes energy for my introverted self to socialize when I’m feeling WELL. So when I’m feeling UNwell, managing the stamina to make small talk with other moms can seem especially hard. She really wants to go to the tea party. Guilt wells up. Fast.

I call our local hospital in regards to a recent medical procedure. The bill is substantial. The lady I speak to is very kind and informs me that we qualify for financial aid. We’ll take it! On his way out the door to work, the hubs says, “Things would be so much easier if we had more money. I don’t understand what Jesus’ big deal with money was.” A little tongue-in-cheek humor to start off our weekend.

For breakfast, it’s eggs, a cherry turnover, and some English breakfast tea. I read a blog written by a woman about why she left the Mormon church. I like her simple website and how she writes, so I search through her archives and end up messaging her on Facebook. Need to start school lessons but the kids are playing exceptionally well together so I put it off. There’s a lot for kids to learn from playing well together. From playing, period.

I notice one of my friends is conspicuously absent from my Facebook page. I observe her presence elsewhere on the news feed and start wondering why she hasn’t acknowledged the sweet pic of my kids or any other number of things I’ve posted. I wonder if she’s feeling annoyed with me, if I’ve done something to irritate her. ‘Cause that’s where my mind usually goes. I want to ask her about it but think I’ll sound childish and petty. It’s just Facebook, after all. Oh, social media, how you’ve messed with my head.

All THAT makes me think about the link I recently shared discussing “Highly Sensitive People”. I start composing a message to the dozen or so folks who ‘liked’ the link to ask them how they cope with getting their feelings hurt so easily. Would the aforementioned circumstance get under their skin too?

We finally start lessons. While reading with the 6yo, the 2yo chats us up about the puzzle she’s working on. While dictating sentences to the 9yo, the 2yo builds a stage with pillows and shows us her tricks, which include rolling off the side of the pillow peak and saying “Mommy look! Mommy look!” over and over. She then stands straight up, flings her little arms wide, and yells “I am the king!” I suppose it’s possible 😉

The husband texts to say he’s received an invitation to a community dinner in the coming days but he’s feeling “a bit overwhelmed about next week”. I respond to an email about picking up milk from our farmers, reply to a friend’s text from a few days ago, respond to another friend’s email, message a friend asking for help dyeing my hair, respond to someone else about another meeting, call someone else about something else. Finally, I text the hubs back and say “No more plans for next week. I’m feeling overwhelmed too.”

The 9yo heads to his track class, pushed along by the stiff breeze. I hit up Spotify and give a couple new artists a listen (Martin Solweig and Lorde). I start assembling lunches for the girls and find a roasted-n-salted grubworm in the pistachios. Second one this month. Makes me wonder how many of those things I’ve eaten. The 2yo says she’s hurt her toe. Wanna call a toe truck? I ask. I always say that. Purely for my own amusement. The older two are over that joke. The 2yo thinks it’s funny.

The 6yo spills chocolate milk down her front, not once but twice. Come to me, laundry. Come to mama. I know you will. You always do. I lay baby girl down for naptime and read her The Little Blue Truck. Love that book. The words and illustrations both.

I write a little. Talk to a friend on the phone. Lunch on soup, saltines and carrots. Wonder if I’ll ever be able to get past hurt feelings in a more efficient fashion. I tend to dwell.

When the hubs gets home, I run some errands. I give a new coffee shop a second try…don’t think I’ll be going back. I return something to the mall (ugh). I visit the Mrs. Baird’s outlet for the first time ever and load up on carbohydrates (but all on DISCOUNT!). I start to walk away from my car and it yanks me back; I’ve closed and locked my purse in the door (smooooove, I know).

I negotiate a deal with the 6yo since I don’t feel up for the tea party. I’ll take her and two friends to see Frozen (again). She agrees but is sad to miss the party and the guilt washes over me. The hubby heads back to campus for an art show. The kids and I cruise the Chick-fil-a drive-thru, and eat dinner on the back patio. We swing. Toss the football. When their dad comes back home, we make an appearance at a game night for the freshman kids we work with at our church. Only stay an hour because of my low-level malaise and the kids’ bedtime.

And another dusty day blows by in west Texas.


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