Must be nice

I really need a vacation.

My muscles need it.
My brain needs it.
My de-pigmented body needs it.

Yesterday I found my third ever gray hair. Not a normal gray hair, either, but a curly short one located right on my temple that stuck out like a mini goat horn.
I promptly plucked out, even though the voices in my head told me not to.

I'm just not ready for that kind of nonsense.

I'm not ready to base my hair dye decisions on which one covers gray the best.
I like picking it just 'cause it's pretty.
I'm only 33 for goodness sake.

It's not that the gray hairs are a surprise, I guess.
I knew they'd come sooner or later.
I mean, the women in my family tree make it look more like a cotton plant than a tree.
I just felt like I was going to one day come out of this crazed state I've been in lately and find myself able to retrace my steps and find the old me in almost as good - if not AS good of shape as before.
Maybe with a few more laugh lines, but not gray headed, worry lined and in need of a tuck and a few medications.

I thought it was a phase I'd just pass through.
A phase of my eyes bulging out of my head as I yell things like, "We don't throw broccoli on the dog." and "Who put Daddy's toothbrush in the VCR?"
You know. THAT kind.

I realized today as I sopped up milk that Tessa had spilled all over the computer table (one of her daily destructions) that it was very likely that I would die there; sprawled beneath the computer table with my head tangled in wet, milky wires.

I thought, "Wouldn't it just be TYPICAL that I wouldn't even get a peaceful DEATH, but a milky wirey electrocution one.
The dog eating mouthfuls of the cat's food behind me.
The girls fighting over the Little People Corn Farmer in the background.
Probably no one would even notice I was gone for days.
They'd just wonder why their stomachs were growling.

It would be typical if it was something dramatic, because that's what every day is around here. Some crisis in need of being averted. Some mystery to figure out. Some lie to get to the bottom of.

(And no, Chloe, I don't believe that it was PHOEBE who sprayed Tessa's entire head - AGAIN - with the spray bottle.)

I'm just so TIRED lately.
The girls have been waking up 4 times a night, and when one isn't up you'd better believe the other one will wake her up.
It's a regular occurence to have two fussy, sleepy bodies climbing into our bed every night at 3:00.
Because, apparently, it is forbidden for me to rest for the entirety of my life.


Lastnight Justin asked me if I had to work watching Addy, my little daycare girl, today.

I told him yes, but that that was the only day this week that I had her.
To this he replied,

"Hmmmmm. Must be nice."

Yeah.
It's a regular Club Med around here.
I just spend all day laying around with cucumber slices on my eyes with an umbrella in my drink.

Must be nice.
Hmph.

And, Yes. We did get in a fight after that.

No one even has a clue what I do all day.
No one knows that I am never EVER ready to wake up when I wake up. That I drag myself out of bed to make breakfast for three very picky eaters, then spend every moment from then till bed time either cooking something, cleaning some sort of animal bodily fluid out of the carpet, doing laundry, breaking up a cage match, or planning what I WILL be cooking.
No appreciation for the thousands of socks I match, or the fact that they never have to go out without a decent hairstyle.
No real thanks for staying up till 10 hot glue gunning mini flower vases to a display board for a science project that is due the very next day. And no thank you for riding my bike in the rain to find the flowers that would go IN those vases.

It's draining. It's stressful.
It gives curly gray goat horn hairs at one's temple.

It's a good thing those darned kids are so cute.
God knew about this when He planned the whole child/parent thing.
He knew if they looked even the slightest bit off, they'd most likely be sold on ebay or traded for a good pair of Danskos.

I need a neck rub. A long one. Not one that is done while baseball is on and that stops for veeeeerrrrrryyyyyyy long pauses when a run is about to be batted in or a foul ball caught.

I need someone else to plan dinner. Not just for a night. For a good solid week.

And while they're at it, opening and closing the fridge pulling food out, they could maybe throw in the other hated chore - The packing of the school lunch.

The lunch that you will labor over and figure out how to make balanced, but then will open at the end of the school day to find mostly smashed and rotten in the bottom of the bag.

Then this is when I am expected to give the standard lecture about children in Africa (Why is it that they are always the example) who would walk for 6 hours to get that lunch, then share it with 4 other kids.

I'm tired of lecturing.
I'm tired of cleaning.
I'm tired of the dog puking from eating the cat food.
I'm tired of the screaming and the fighting over silly things like the corn farmer.

I just need a vacation.

Or at the very least a long hot bath with the door locked.