Life is like a freaking Gravitron around here lately. Ohmyword, the nauseating spinning.
Have you ever ridden on the Gravitron? That spinny wheel of death at your local fair that sucks you up the wall as it spins faster and faster, as you feel your cheeks press against your earlobes and your stomach contents rise up your esophagus as your feet come off the ground and the padded wall you’re up against slides up towards the ceiling?
It took me three days after that fair to get over the nausea and supreme motion sickness I felt after riding that ride. I’m pretty sure that ride is the reason I get car and air sick now, and have major issues with motion. Never had a problem with any of that until the Gravitron.
Which brings me to today. The whirling suckfest that has been life as of late, it rivals that evil Gravitron torture device. I enjoyed a glorious 6+ mile run on Monday with my son, running in the cool temperartues with the wind swirling and tickling us as we ran the golf course and crazy death hills. I didn’t think I’d come down from that high this week until Tuesday happened.
Who knew one day off this week would make the four-day week suck so spectacularly?
I think Tuesday swallowed Monday’s normal sucktitude and someone fed it after midnight, Gremlin-style. I don’t know. But what I DO know is that this short “four day week” sucked all the joy out of that gorgeous Monday day off, and each and every day it got progressively worse. My six-mile running ass has been plastered to this couch feeding a needy, teething infant all week, coupled with countless spreadsheets, campaign tracking, and crazy to-dos to do, my hair is coiffed in a bun somewhat whackadoodle while I subsist on spoonfuls of peanut butter and coffee.
Good news, though, is that I finally began folding the Laundry Pile of Doom™ this morning. And instead of hiding in the fetal position when the teething wails hit Baby V, I soothed her, swayed with her, and slurped a little extra coffee while I scrubbed the counter with an actual towel and cleaner. My poor countertops hate me right now.
I can’t seem to catch-up. And I need help, big time. I’m not one to back down from a challenge, but this five-bedroom house + playroom simply asks too much for one of me with seven of them that need me more.
So when my children asked me what I wanted for my birthday next week, my answer was a freakin’ maid service.
I just want a clean slate to start with. A do-over, if you will. I just need help from another able-bodied clean-minded person, preferably one who does this professionally and won’t slack off because they’d rather play video games (ahem, older children); one who can and will help me clean the nook and crannies of the Pee-Stained Toilet of Suck™ (ahem, boys) and will help me wrangle dirt, grime, and has a love of sparkly windows and countertops like I usually do.
One who will understand seven kids and a busy set of parents who have dustbunnies bigger than their infant and who might just need a professional to handle the minutiae of dust-accumulated baseboards and shower scum.
I don’t think it’s an unreasonable request, do you?
Have you ever asked for something like this for your birthday before?