I knew something was up a week ago Friday, when I woke up, got ready for spinning, and 15 minutes before I was supposed to walk out the door, I picked up a wash cloth and started washing dishes. In an angry rage that lasted all day.
On Saturday, I woke to my mother-effin-period and partly sobbed in relief, because I had an explanation for my day-long rage the day before that was not, simply, me losing my mind as I had seriously considered.
On Sunday, I woke to a sore throat and terrible cold and a morning spent arguing/bickering/discussing that left me drained and in tears and Clara hugging me and patting me on the back and saying, “There, there.”
(For the record, it’s not your job to comfort me, sweetest girl).
(There’s more to all this, an emotional climax that’s been building in the past few weeks and has derailed me in so many ways, I’ll post more later).
The day before, I’d taken Clara to the Apple Factory:
And I had intuitively picked up some breaded chicken cutlets from the butcher counter, so that I could make this:
My go-too meal when I’m short on time or feel like crap. It’s as easy as quickly frying the chicken in a bit of oil, covering the entire thing with pasta sauce and cheese and baking for half an hour. Served alongside whole wheat spaghetti and it’s chicken parm. Done and done.
On Monday, I still felt like crap. We hung out on the couch, and I alternated between dozing and knitting while Clara watched the Backyardigans. She didn’t seem to mind:
On Tuesday, it was more of the same except I treated Clara to a snazzy fun lunch, inspired, of course, by Pinterest:
I did some more knitting on what slowly is going to be a quilt for Clara:
On Wednesday, we napped in the basement. It’s insane how dark I can get it down there with a couple of strategically placed blankets over the one troublesome window.
On Thursday, I was well enough to get to yoga, with a little help from the Get Better Fairy:
On Friday, I dragged my ass to spinning and was glad I did, because new bikes!
I spent part of the day on the phone with my pharmacy and doctors office because as much as I prefer to not be putting a bunch of hormones into my body (remember we eat organic meat as much as possible) I can’t handle being mother-effing crazy for a couple of days every month, not to mention doubled over in pain, so it’s (unfortunately) time to go back on the (effing) pill.
On Saturday, I drove the couple hundred kilometers or so with Cathy (and Clara, who LOST HER MIND when we arrived) to pick up the poodle that she was adopting from a labradoodle/goldenoodle breeder. Within 5 minutes I had an assortment of noodles and poodles curled in my lap but none were as beautiful or as charming as the delightful Charlie, who we brought home with us for the night, much to Clara’s delight:
(I’m suffering from insane puppy envy).
Late Saturday night, just before i crawled into bed, Clara woke up puking and proceeded to cover the entire house in her steaming, rancid puke and Taylor and I alternated staying up with her as she puked from just before midnight till 7 the next morning.
(Dealing with your own puke is nowhere near as disgusting as dealing with someone else’s. I love you sweet pea, but I don’t care for cleaning up your puke. Not at all.)
She napped (and puked a bit more) throughout the day:
We tried to not feel too sorry for ourselves:
I derailed and sunk a bit further into my self-pity-party and defrosted and ate leftover birthday cake that’s been in the freezer since September. Not surprisingly, it wasn’t overly tasty then, and certainly not today, and yet? Didn’t stop me. Gross.
By late afternoon, Clara was feeling better and i convinced her to play blocks with me while we waited for Taylor to come home with dinner after being out all day.
We built this:
Which she promptly tried to destroy with a giant yellow smiley face ball:
And that photo? That photo pretty much sums up my week.