Since we often do a lot of imagining around here, I hope you won’t be surprised when I ask you to close your eyes and picture…
…The living room…a jungle of toys, baby clothes, underwear…and Cheerios. Cheerios like Pumas…sneaky Pumas hiding in corners and under end-tables and couches…even in diapers…waiting to launch a whole-grain sneak attack on you and crunch under your socks…
…The kitchen…a dank dungeon filled to the brim with pots and pans…Fiesta ware that is only festive when not stacked and caked with old food…banana residue leftover from the Baby Crusades (a dark and tear-filled time, when Prince Charlie refused to eat anything but cheese) coats the floor…you feel inspired to sit down on the laminate, eat a giant turkey leg, and leave it for dragons to devour…
…The bedroom…a quiet, forgotten room, collecting things like clothing, books…even the ancient music producing devices known once as “compact discs”…we’ve been receiving excavation requests from some of the most prominent Archaeologists, who are positive that they will be able to unearth something known as a “desktop PC”…

Are you stressed out yet? Because I sure am. How in the H does this stuff get away from us like this? Here I am, kneeling on a Boppy pillow, typing this blog post while the computer is hooked up to the TV playing Blue’s Clues. Why? Because it’s been almost a week since my last blog post (and I am not okay with that), and I’ve got enough work to do over nap time that I don’t think I’ll be able to get one written. I have made a pot of half-caff coffee (I try to only drink decaf) and am doing chain laundry today. I hope no one in our apartment section has clothing to wash.

And on top of all this, our complex is raising our rent, so we need to find a new apartment that is about $100 cheaper (our rent isn’t going up $100, we’re just trying to be “gazelle intense” about our budget) by the 15th of April.

But you guys didn’t come here to be stressed out, did you? Probably not. So, I’ve decided to write down a few little reminders for myself (and anyone they happen to apply to) to help keep my stress levels down.

Dear Self:
1. The mess and the stress levels are not your husband’s fault. Please don’t yell at him.
2. The mess is not your fault, either. It’s been a busy week.
3. The stress levels are partly your fault. Seriously, calm the heck down.
4. Charlie ate all of his pears, yogurt, and cereal this morning. He is not going on a hunger strike. Babies go through these things called “phases.”
5. You’re going to find a good, cheap apartment in time. Seriously, it will be fine.
6. Your blogs don’t have to be 12 pages long. It’s probably better that they’re not.

A slightly less stressed out Self in a rare moment of clarity

Okay. I feel a little bit better. This is something I definitely need to work on. I can be super positive and upbeat about obstacles and hard times right up until something ridiculous happens…like not being able to find a matching sock…and then I turn into Psycho Stressie (a terrifying villain who sighs loudly, slams things around, and is generally an expert at freaking out…or acting sullen and snarky).

I’m sure I’m not the only one like this. We all just need to stop for a second. Everything will be fine. Let’s take a little moment to do some Zen breathing…or chocolate eating, or music listening, or whatever makes us chill out. Things will get done when they get done, and no one’s face is going to explode.


If you’ve got more suggestions, I’ll gladly take them. Until then, I’m off to refill my prescription of Chill Pills.

P.S. I’m not actually taking pills. Unless you count chocolate chips. Then I’m guilty as charged.