Sometimes I ...

I have been up since the crack of dawn running errands all over the damned place, getting a haircut (nothing major, just needed the ole' mullet trimmed), visiting with some riotous ladies from church, going on a jog (at a snail's much slower pet snail's pace), helping a friend organize a closet, then going home and sorting through MY closet, washing peed-in underpants, and switching out my children's summer wardrobe for their fall clothes.
And now I have the biggest headache and feel generally craptastic.
So this post will probably suck.
How's that for an enticing hook?
And I am feeding my kids Cookie Crisp for dinner.
In front of the movie, "Pee Wee's Big Adventure."
Go me.
So on that embarrassing note, I will forge ahead with my previously compiled list of things that I sometimes do.
Which is possibly more humiliating than admitting that we own the movie, "Pee Wee's Big Adventure."  

Sometimes I ... wear my six-year-old like a backpack because as I was cleaning out said closet I found a baby-wearing contraption and tested it out on ALL of my non-babies.
Good times.

^^ Yes. Ezra has a mustache and I have no boobs. It is as if our maturation rates have been swapped. ^^

Sometimes I ... time myself to see how fast I can unload the dishwasher.
Today I did it in 2 minutes and 46 seconds.
Snap.

Sometimes I ... put Micah back into diapers.
And by sometimes, I mean every day because if I have to wash out one more pair of soiled briefs I may just throw myself into moving traffic.

Sometimes I ...  start planning my nap the previous night. "If I get up early, work out, finish my housework, attend the jog-a-thon, throw dinner in the crockpot, and put Micah down, maybe I can sneak in a little siesta ..."

Sometimes I ... shower and "get ready" 30 minutes before everyone gets home in order to look "productive" and less like a "lazy piece of crap."
They will never know I just changed out of my neon tribal leggings. (Except now they do.)

Sometimes I ... go running sans glasses and think I see a fellow jogger in the distance only to find out it is a trashcan instead. I have made a habit of waving/nodding to trees, mailboxes, and parked cars until I am approximately two feet away and can vaguely make them out.

Sometimes I ... think back to what my life looked like one year ago.
And think about how one's whole life trajectory can careen off its previous course in the blink of an eye.
And then I hope that it will continue to evolve in a way that is unexpected but with a possible upswing?

Well, lovelies, I have got to lay down.
My head is pounding and I have heard "I know you are but what am I," one too many times.
I am ashamed that I suggested that flick.