Warning: The following was written by a sleep-, caffeine-, chocolate-, romance-deprived woman. It could get ugly.
I've wracked my brain trying to come up with a light, whimsical way to write about the past two weeks, but let's face it...I'm no Jane Austen. (And did Jane Austen ever write while overcoming post-partum depression? No, I don't think so.)
So, the past two weeks have been one disaster after another. The list of things broken, replaced, or repaired include a television, an ice maker, my husband's toe, the toilet, the van, the heating system in the house...and oh yeah, the van again. (Can you hear the Hee Haw Quartet singing, "If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all..."?)
Our meager-but-valiantly-trying-to-grow savings account has officially been wiped out.
And there's an entire bag of dark chocolate Dove in my cabinet, taunting me. But since Mary still gets tummyaches at my least little ingestion of chocolate, I'm not having any. It's hard, I tell you. So very hard.
Is it too inappropriate for a forty-year old woman to throw herself down, beat her hands and feet against the floor and cry, "It's not fair!!!" ? Yeah, I thought so too.
But I know I have a lot to be thankful for, even when I want to scream from the frustration of it all. (Not that it would help, because then I'd still have to deal with everything AND I'd have a sore throat.)
Because looking at these faces? Life's not so bad after all.