The last week went a little like this: strep throat for one of my kids, strep throat for me (thanks, kid), cancer diagnosis for someone I love, a birthday for one of my kids, more fever for a kid.

Did you catch that? A piano fell on our heads.

It was not a simple diagnosis (are they ever?), and the potential for bad news was huge. Looming. Hanging over our heads.

Surgery first. Then questions. And a whole lot of sleepless nights, foggy days, and anger at people and things that didn’t deserve our anger.

But also. Also a lot of laughter, albeit of a slightly nervous variety. And prayers. And hope. And again with the prayers. All this while keeping the day-to-day going.

And then? Well, call me a believer.

But first call me a doubter, a questioner. A dubious suspect-er of this life being futile.

And then it happened.

We got the best possible news. We got exactly what we asked for. Exactly what we were told was highly unlikely, extremely rare. It happened. I’m humbled. And a bit embarrassed at some of the nastier things I thought about God and life.

I know – believe me, I know because I’ve experienced it – that sometimes prayers are not answered in the way we want them be answered. Sometimes it feels like they weren’t answered at all. I’ve walked through hard times so bizarre and painful they seemed like fiction.

But.

Not always.

Sometimes.

Sometimes we get exactly what we ask for. We get the very best news. We get a gift we didn’t believe would come, even though we asked nicely. And not nicely. We asked over and over again, always with a question in the back of our minds.

This whole thing, our piano as it were, isn’t over-over. There are more decisions to be made, more information to gather. But we’re standing in a much nicer spot than we were in a week ago. The view from here? Pretty sweet.

And so I’m humbled. Grateful. Relieved.

And in need of a good night’s sleep. I think I just might get one of those tonight.

So you and I, we’ll chat next week.

Thanks to all of you who sent kind notes, prayers, and offers of help. You’re all my very favorites.

Do not run to your calendars, it is not Wednesday. But… it is guest writer day. I’m switching things up on you this week. That’s how we keep our minds, uh, keep them, hmmm, oh – sharp. How we stay sharp. Or it’s just what we do when schedules get wonky and the best solution is to run the guest post on Tuesday instead of Wednesday.

My guest today is my friend Gigi. You may know her as KludgyMom. Gigi is one of my very first blogging friends, and also one of the very first people that crossed over from the virtual world to real life friendship. Sadly, I don’t see her much these days, because she had the nerve to move back to California, but thankfully I still get to “see” her online. I think her post today is one that will resonate with a lot of people, especially if you’ve ever had to make a decision. Surely you’ve made one or two before even eating breakfast today.

***

I have a health problem.

One that affects me not only physically, but emotionally.

I have Sporadically Mute Gut Disorder. I’m sure you won’t find it on WebMD, although I diagnosed my symptoms there and if I don’t have SMGD, I might very well have osteoporosis, colon cancer or just a nervous eye twitch.

Sporadically Mute Gut Disorder is a condition in which your gut doesn’t tell you anything when you’re trying to ask it a question.

I try to go with my gut and my gut is utterly MIA.

Not always, though. On really uber major life decisions, my gut is there for me when I need it.

Last year, I asked my gut: Should I do a cross-country move with two kids, a dog, an unemployed husband and an unsold house in ten days’ time from beginning to end?

YES, my gut said emphatically. And we moved.

When Boy Wonder was two and not speaking, I asked my gut: I think this kid has a developmental delay…I’m not being a helicopter parent, am I?

NO, my gut stated. And I took my kid to the pediatrician, ignored him calling me a worrywart, and was vindicated when my son was indeed diagnosed with developmental delays.

But I have other decisions to make that ambush me daily – and for those, my gut disappears like a toddler in the crowd at Disneyland.

I listen carefully in case it’s just speaking quietly. I try to fold my head into my lap…nothing but the sound of Cheetos digesting.

When my gut shuts its mouth like this, it causes another chronic condition: Second-Guessitis.

Should I have punished Little CEO that severely for ignoring my seven requests to pick up her Littlest Pet Shops? Have I just broken her spirit? Will she no longer trust me? How long before she ends up on an episode of Intervention?

How much damage did I just do to Boy Wonder in feeding him that frozen, highly processed corn dog? Are the chemicals coursing through his body at this very moment, mutating themselves into some debilitating disease that make his life hell when he’s older? Did I just sign his death sentence?

Was I hasty in sending off that snappish email to the PTA mom? Should I have volunteered to contribute yet another $100 to the Teacher Appreciation Fund, even though some parents contributed nothing? What nasty things is she saying about me to her kid that will get back to mine? Will my kid be an outcast on the playground tomorrow? Worse yet, will she get a crappy teacher next year, thereby precluding her from ever getting into Harvard?

It’s times like these that I want to trust my gut. I want my gut to tell me: yes, Gigi, you’re doing okay, or no, Gigi, you shouldn’t do that. But instead, there is silence. And I spend the rest of the day in a tornado of self-doubt.

Other times, I want my gut to talk to me so badly that I just pretend it’s answering, giving me the response that I really want. The response that makes me feel like a better mom, wife or friend, justifying my bad or impatient behavior, giving me an excuse.

By day’s end, the symptoms of second guessitis have passed, only for another round to return the next day. I can count on it, as reliably as I can count on my Hillbilly Bob neighbor parking his bombed-out military vehicle on lifts in front of my house.

And so it goes.

I don’t know if I’ll ever kick this condition. My gut fails more more the older I get; the older my children become; the more complicated the problems we face together. All I can do is hope that next time, I’ll hear something besides those Cheetos.

I wonder…

:: Do you experience situations where your gut doesn’t tell you what to do?

:: How do you make decisions when you can’t trust your gut?

***

 About the Writer

Gigi writes at KludgyMom, a snappish take on parenting, pop culture and technology. She’s also the Editor of DailyBuzz Tech and DailyBuzz Healthy Living. Connect with Gigi on Facebook and Twitter.

The metaphorical piano has fallen on our heads this week.

Even though our piano is not related to my children, I immediately thought of that post by my friend Amy, and how she compared her experience to a falling piano. Two weeks ago, I would have said about the same thing at a cocktail party (“We’re in a great place!”). Now, my answer would be a bit different.

It’s so true that there has been a lot of good at our house lately. As intense and scary as this life can be, I’m forever amazed – and blessed – by the amount of good out there. But my family has some challenges ahead. We’ll be leaning heavily on the good to get us through the not-so-much.

I’m not writing this to elicit sympathy or do the equivalent of vague-booking. You know what that is, right? When you write some vague, whiny Facebook status and wait for your online friends to start begging for more information. No, that’s not what I’m doing here.

Rather, I know that many of the people who read this blog regularly are more than just blog readers to me. We’ve struck up friendships offline, or in cases where geographical distance is an issue, we’ve resorted to emails, texts, and phone calls. So while I can’t go into details just yet (I don’t own this story outright), I wanted you to know why I’ve been quiet. Why I’ll continue to be kind of quiet.

If it’s possible, I’ve been even worse than usual about responding to comments and certainly haven’t done a lot of reading or commenting elsewhere. Granted, I hate that I-read-you-you-read-me game. And yet… I do love to read and comment on and share your writing. I’ll be back to it as soon as possible. But for now my focus is on my family and making sure we have plenty more good to look forward to.

I don’t plan to disappear (like the unplanned, unannounced blogging hiatus of 2011); I just know myself well enough to know I’m not going to be completely present in this space. I’m very busy removing the piano from my head.

I’m drinking a post-lunch cup of coffee and watching Murder She Wrote.

Forget turning into my mother. I’ve skipped right on and have become my mother’s grandmother. Except I didn’t really skip, because that aggravates my trick hip.

Truthfully – and thankfully – I feel great, both physically and emotionally. I said great, not stable. I’m as emotionally unstable as the rest of you, and it works for me. I’m afraid my mind is old, though. Like watching-an-all-day-The-Golden-Girls-marathon old.

In general, I see no problem with my elderly tendencies. Are these things really so bad?

I like to eat early, like lunch at 10:45 and dinner at 4:30. But this is good, right? They always say to eat dinner at least three hours before bedtime, so 4:30 is perfect.

I’m not joking about watching The Golden Girls and Murder She Wrote. Make fun if you want to, just don’t call me after 8 p.m. for a taunting session, because I’ll be under an afghan, watching the Hallmark Channel.

I don’t like to drive at night. Nor do I like to drive fast. If the radio is too loud, I can’t see.

Now, before you write me off completely, I have not…

Forsaken fashion for comfort. I’m still willing to blister my feet if the shoes are cute enough.

Begun getting my hair set once a week, or wrapping it in toilet paper while I sleep.

Started sending money to that nice looking preacher man on TV.

Additionally – and this one is a big one – I can still work [most of the] electronics and new-fangled gadgetry. I am not afraid to pause live TV, fearing that if I pause too many times I will never catch up, rendering me forever behind the rest of the world. (P.S. – Mom, it’s okay, really. You can pause the TV. Go ahead, give it a try.)

So why am I concerned?

Because I’m not yet 40 and I’m addled. And crotchety. And would rather be under the duvet than on top of the VIP list for the latest hot spot.

In 40 more years, I’ll be eating dinner at noon, going to bed at 4 p.m. and waking up at 2 a.m.

I’ll stand on my front porch, complaining about the noisy kids until small children become afraid to retrieve rogue baseballs from my yard. That is, if in 40 years children still come with legs rather than just two giant video gaming/texting thumbs.

And I’m pretty sure I’ll still be watching Murder She Wrote reruns, although they’ll all be stored on a chip in my brain by then.

I just hope I won’t need my grandchildren to show me – repeatedly – how the brain chip works.

It’s early release day in our school district. Again. Now I realize that one early release day each month only adds up to… uh, hold on… need both my fingers to count this out… Okay, it’s nine times, but it seems like 900 times. My child eats lunch at 10:15 on early release days. 10:15! I should send him pancakes or breakfast tacos. It’s just annoying, and we have to juggle pick-up schedules, since on these fun, fun early release days H and P get out of school at the same time. Only I can’t be in two places at once, like some of those super moms. But there is an upside: I get two extra hours with my big kid today (I’m being serious. Really. Most of the time I’m pretty fond of him.).

So. That little rant has absolutely nothing to do with today on the blog, which happens to be Wednesday: guest writer day! My guest today is Kate Fineske from On-the-Go Momma. Kate really is a super mom, but not the annoying kind. She’s the kind I admire, and I get the feeling she goes about 90-to-nothing all day, every day. But as she tells us today, sometimes you have to shut down all the distractions and let your mind wander a bit. I relate to this post completely – we play the same game at our house – and can’t wait to find out if you do, too.

***

Kids, kids and more kids.

Work, work and more work.

Sometimes even the weekend isn’t a good enough reprieve from all the tasks on my plate that I am supposed to complete. Occasionally I just need to give my mind a break from my on-going to-do list.

After a long day of wearing multiple hats as a mother, a wife, a college educator, a non-profit staff member and a blogger, one of my favorite ways to end my day is to just…

Grab my husband, put the iPhone, iPad, Laptop, Google Reader, Twitter feed and Facebook conversations away

and…

Watch an episode or two of HGTV’s House Hunters International. (I know, maybe not what you were thinking I was going to say?)

My husband and I love watching HGTV’s House Hunters International because a.) they are short 30-minute episodes (and usually we are pretty spent and couldn’t fathom watching a 2-hour movie!), b.) we are complete travel addicts, and c.) the TV show allows us to dream.

And as we watch, the “what-ifs” tend to begin …

• What if we just took off and moved to Italy, the Bahama’s or China?
• What if we spent our days living a slower paced life and/or giving our children a taste of a different culture?
• What if we didn’t worry as much about deadlines, and expectations, and all the other things that often consume our days?

Wouldn’t that be nice?

Of course then “what-if” becomes “could-we”…

• Could we actually pick up and move halfway around the world with our three young children?
• Could we ever leave the stability of the home we’ve always known for a place that would be so “unknown?”
• Could we manage to make new friends for both us and our kids?

And finally, the “what-if” that turned into “could-we” eventually becomes “but …”

• Sure, we could pick-up and move BUT, we would really miss all of our family and friends.
• Yes, we could leave our home-sweet-home BUT, we would definitely be sad to leave the house that we have put so much of our own blood, sweat and tears to build and maintain.
• Of course, we could make new friends BUT, making good friends takes time. (A hot commodity in our books!)

And that is when we realize something. (Note: The same thing is realized again and again and again since we often end our night with a DVR’ed episode or two.)

We realize that it is good to dream.

And it is fun to wish.

Yet you always seem to want what you don’t have.

And also that with every decision you make there is always consequences.

Then, just about at this point – this point RIGHT HERE – is when we realize that right now it is way more fun to watch others pick-up their lives and start over then to actually do it ourselves.

And we start thinking: OK, so maybe we could do this when we retire…

I Wonder…

:: Do you ever think in terms of what-if, could-we and but?

:: How do you differentiate between a wish, a dream and a true goal?

***

About the Writer

Kate is a self-procaimed busy, on-the-go, not-so-perfect, often forgetful (yet well meaning) mom of three who blogs personally at On-the-Go Momma and is also a staff member and contributor to the National Association of Mothers’ Centers’ blog, Mothers Central. You can follow her on twitter and like her on Facebook.

The other day my six year old asked me to read him my piece (a slightly modified version of this post) from Austin’s 2012 production of Listen to Your Mother. He sat quietly, and when I finished reading he said, good. Nothing more. Except for this:

Why do we have hairs in our noses?

(Just in case you didn’t click the link up there, I’ll give you this: There is no mention of nose hair in the piece I read.)

Uhhhhh. Well, I think the hairs trap dirt and crud so that it doesn’t get into our heads, I offer. I give him a hug and start to stand up. Teaching moment complete.

Does the crud turn into boogers?

I guess so.

Since our noses and mouths are all kind of connected, do we ever swallow boogers?

I tell him that’s a very real possibility. It’s time to get ready for bed, so I start shooing him in the direction of his tootbrush and pajamas.

Oh, man. Then we’d have to poop out those boogers. Booger poop – now that is funny stuff. You know mom, you should have written about booger poop for your show, then everyone would really laugh instead of just sitting there while you read, like I did.

Children: the cure for delusions of grandeur.

And I suppose booger poop could have been a huge hit on Sunday, when I took the stage with a cast of Austin writers. But as sage as my son’s advice was, we didn’t need it. The show already had something for everyone.

People told me, and other cast members, after the show that they experienced so many emotions that afternoon. And everyone had their own favorite moment. We’d been told that was the case last year, that each piece resonated differently, finding a fit somewhere in the audience. And while that made perfect sense to me – logically, anyway – before the show, it wasn’t until I sat in the theater that I felt the audience connecting. I could feel them reacting with a laugh here, a sniffle there; at times, it seemed like there was a physical link between the reader and certain audience members.

Bizarre. And wonderful.

I’m an incredibly visual person, and an introverted one at that. I always thought the written word was sufficient, sitting there on its page. And it is. It is, don’t get me wrong. It’s just that, well, reading those words out loud, or listening to someone else read, changes written words. It allows the words to wiggle into spots they couldn’t reach before.

So I’m here to tell you, seek out opportunities to share your words and to listen to other people do the same. Not unlike how the crud trapped in our nose hairs becomes something else entirely, taking words from your head to the page to the stage changes them forever.

Thankfully, words become something much, much more beautiful than booger poop.

*

Thank you, Ann Imig, Wendi Aarons, Liz McGuire for bringing Listen to Your Mother to Austin. And thank you to my family and friends who supported me through this adventure.

What a week! All good, all a blur. And as I say every week (I do, don’t I?), I’m glad it’s Wednesday. My guest today is Jackie, from With Just a Bit of Magic. Jackie is such a kind, supportive, funny blogging friend; I’m always glad to see her name pop up in my in-box, Twitter stream, etc. So I’m extra happy to to share her sweetly funny post about raising a boy after having three girls first. And I’m trying to decide just how honest I should be with her when I answer the I wonder… questions about life with boys!

***

Bets on how long he stays dry?

He went from a cute, cuddly baby that we all adored so much & was the center of our universe to this walking, talking, incredibly busy toddler who sometimes annoys his sisters so much that I wonder about his safety.

As a mom to 3 girls prior to having a little boy I had nothing to compare a boy to other than what I had heard from other people. What I did know was that the girls were a piece of cake…. or I’ve just blocked all the bad memories.

Regardless, the girls were simple. They played quietly alone or together and while they did get into things it was nothing compared to a boy. With the girls I was able to not worry when I went to the bathroom or left the room for a couple minutes.

You know that saying, ‘if they’re quiet you better check on them’? Well, that goes double for little boys… especially curious toddler boys.

This week these are a few of the highlights:

• Playing in the toilet water after I put the blue cleaner in it.
• Moving the chair to the counter so he can get a knife out of the block to help with dinner.
• Waking up at 5am to sleep with me and then kicking me for 2 hours.
• Peeing on my couch and then telling me he made a mess when he knows to use the potty.
• And my all time favorite…. screaming at the top of his lungs for fun and then laughing about it. Even with my ears plugged it hurt and I think that people a mile down the road could hear him.

And just so you know… this was all with me in the same room as him! Who knows what he would do if I went to another room!

I wonder….

:: Am I the only one who thinks girls are easier?

:: Am I the only mom of a boy who gets confused by their actions?

:: Does the screaming stop?

***

About the Writer

Jackie writes over at With Just a Bit of Magic. You can find just about anything there from recipes, to pictures, to fiction. She is a wife and mom to 4 kids, and during the day she spends her time working as a product owner for a software development company and heading up social media at her husbands business. In the meantime, she dreams of new career in social media and freelance writing. You can follow her on Twitter, Facebook, Google+, and Pinterest.

At an obnoxious hour last Thursday morning I boarded a plane for the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop in Dayton, OH. I was confident that a good experience waited for me, but I had no idea.

I’m not ready to snap out of the post-workshop after glow just yet. One day soon I’ll share with you some of the deep, meaningful, and hilarious things I took away from four days with Erma and Friends. For now, though, let’s stick to the numbers.

*

64 – Number of hours I wore Grown Up Clothes.

I work at home. At the most, I wear a real bra and business casual clothes six hours a day, one day a week. I didn’t wear yoga pants, flip flops, or running shoes for four days.

The last night, 16-plus hours after getting dressed in the morning, even my bra was over it. While workshop attendees performed standup, my bra unhooked itself. There are only two reasons your undergarments remove themselves: either they find you repulsive after so many hours between showers, or Ryan Gosling just walked in the room.

2 – Number of new Pocket People (I will explain).

Mark and I have a long-running… I don’t know what to call it. It’s just a thing. When we come across an outrageously adorable person, we say they are, “so cute, we just want to put him/her in our pocket.” Current Pocket People include, but are not limited to, Tommy Silva (This Old House), Seth Cohen (of The O.C.), and Ray (from our grocery store).

My new additions? Erma’s husband, Bill Bombeck; and Ilene Beckerman. Dear God, these people are wonderful.

Honestly, all of the keynote speakers were fantastic. I’d be happy to put any of them in my pocket.

5 – Number of times I cried, minimum.

Every time a member of Erma’s family – biological or chosen – read one of her pieces, I wept. Seeing her legacy represented in such a personal way was stunning. That is the power of words well written, of love well documented.

1 – Number of times I feared for my life.

Lesson learned: When the hotel staff at the overflow hotel points you in the general direction of campus and shrugs a “you could walk,” get another opinion. You cannot walk from downtown Dayton to the Marriott near the University of Dayton. Physically, sure. Emotionally, not so much. If you ever register late and the workshop hotel is already booked, please, for the love of Erma, take the shuttle. Do not walk. In case you’re still thinking you don’t need the shuttle, I have a subset of numbers for you here.

3 – Junkies we passed on our way.
1 – Person providing me with hilarious, distracting conversation on this walk of doom. Also, it’s nice to have your own big-city-raised Russian immigrant at a time like this; she assured me that our walk had nothing on the streets of San Fran.
2 – Gas station attendants who openly laughed when we asked to call a cab, saying, “You could call a cab, but sometimes they don’t come.”
6 – Layers of clothes and foundation garments (combined, dummy, neither one of was wearing 6 layers) drenched in sweat by the time we reached that Marriott ballroom.

4 – Number of pounds [my suitcase] gained.

I’m paranoid about surpassing the baggage weight limit, and having to remove my hairdryer or Oxford English Dictionary at check-in. I closely watch that scale at the baggage counter, and I don’t breathe easy until I see a number under 50. Because of this, I know my bag gained four pounds while we were at Erma.

I ate an absurd number of white dinner rolls and lots of cake while at the workshop. And I am thankful that I did not have to stand on the scale at the airport.

1ish – Number of criminal acts.

I lifted my roommate’s Logitech iPad keyboard. An utterly senseless crime, since I have one exactly like it. In court I will make the argument that I thought it was mine, and as it was four – in the morning – and I was packing after fewer than three hours of sleep, it’s an honest mistake. I am sure no jury of my peers will convict me.

In all fairness, she stole my jacket. Oh okay, I accidentally left it hanging in the closet. See: packing at 4 a.m.

15 – Number of hours I slept in three nights, max.

It was worth every sleep-deprived minute.

Unknown Numbers – The times I laughed and the friends I made.

I’m not naming names here. I live in fear of inadvertently leaving off a name, just as I inadvertently skipped out on my bar tab Friday night. I will pay you back, nice people I just met before I did the Drink and Dash.

But I did meet fabulous people. And I did laugh, often until I cried. So I guess I should change that number up there for “Times I Cried” to unknown, as well.

*

There’s no good way to say thank you to all of the people involved in pulling together the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop. If I had to quantify my appreciation, it would require a number higher than my English major brain can safely handle. So, simply, thanks to all of you.

And Erma, to you most of all.

Hello, guest writer Wednesday! This week has been one sneak attack after another; I am constantly surprised by what day it is. I realize that sounds absurd. But it is what it is. I keep adding and subtracting days at my convenience, to make the week what I want it to be. So I was surprised to find us at Wednesday, because I desperately need it to be Tuesday as I have a lot to do before Thursday morning. Anyway… The good thing about it being Wednesday? My friend, Carolyn, from Hooked and Happy is here today sharing a fantasy. Read on, you’ll be glad you did.

***

I don’t think I am alone. Everyone has a secret fantasy, right?

I definitely have one.

You see, as a Mom, my life is full. Very full. And often, I do all of the day-to-day grind.

I sometimes I feel -

Unappreciated.
Taken for granted.
Overwhelmed.
(A simple thank-you after a meal would be “appreciated” by me.)

So, I carry around this fantasy that if I ever went away for a weekend, the house would fall to shambles and nobody would be able to function.

I *see* both the girls dressed in dirty clothes, hungry, getting into mischief, and amid piles of clutter and rubbish.

Thumper, helping herself to a beverage.

Simply put, I think my family wouldn’t be able to survive without me.

I’m not an egomaniac. I do have some confirmation my fantasy may not be far off.

On a recent business trip, my husband made a car reservation with Avis online. When he arrived at the airport, Avis couldn’t find his reservation by name. He called me to for his reservation number.

“It’s on the print-out I gave you,” I said.

“Oh,” he said. “I’ll get the sheet. Can you hold on while I show it to her?”

He placed the phone on the counter and rustled through his bag.

Then I heard, “Well here’s the problem sir. This is the Hertz line.”

He hung up.

I wonder…

:: Am I right? Would they survive without me?

:: Who else has the same fantasy?

:: Should I test this theory?

About the Writer

Carolyn can be found over at Hooked and Happy. She’s a mother to two active and lovable daughters, and loves to craft, cook, write, and drink coffee. You can subscribe to her posts in a Reader, fan her on Facebook, follow her on Twitter, and check out her boards on Pinterest.

Should I tell you up front that I don’t know where this is going? Probably not.

But I don’t care. I care about you, certainly, but I don’t care if this post follows any rules – writing, blogging, basic social precepts of any kind.

So it’s settled. I have no idea where this is going.*

I feel a malaise. And alternately I feel satisfaction, coupled with a grateful heart. I’m unable to reconcile such disparate emotions.

We (Mark and I), think perhaps I’m experiencing a growth spurt. I will explain why this is a completely reasonable assumption.

We’ve noticed that our children lose their s*&# for a while every time they’re about to reach a major milestone. A child development expert friend of mine says this is completely normal; apparently, little kid brains can only cope with so much. When they’re about to grow (physically, mentally, emotionally), their brains put everything into reaching this new milestone. She said that if we pay close attention we’ll notice a pattern: basket case, followed by a milestone, like walking or a whole bunch of new words or the need to go buy all new jeans since the old ones are suddenly man-capris.

My growth spurt is most likely of the mental/emotional variety, but maybe I’ll actually grow physically. That would be completely amazing. Maybe those long legs I’ve always wanted will finally be mine.

There’s really no other explanation for my two-plus hour nap on Sunday, from which I never fully woke up. Left to my own devices, I would have slept until… oh, hell, I might still be sleeping. There’s no other explanation for feeling weepy one moment and at peace the next. There’s no other explanation for thinking I have the to-do list under control one minute, and freaking out about all the crap I’m not getting done in the next minute.

Well, sure, there are other explanations, but I am not pregnant. I am not menopausal (at least I better not be). I am not enduring a major life crisis of any kind.

So there you have it. I’m having a growth spurt.

I’ll let you know if I have to buy all new pants for my supermodel legs. Fingers crossed.

I wonder…

:: Do you ever feel like you are barely keeping it all together, even when there’s no reasonable explanation for your… craziness (for lack of a better word at this moment)?

* DISCLOSURE: Part of the reason I didn’t know where this post was going, is that I never planned to write it. Earlier today I read this post from Literal Mom, and it was the first time I admitted to myself that I haven’t exactly been holding things together lately. So I ran with that thought, and this is where it led. Not because I just felt some need to be all feeling-y, but because I’m genuinely curious about whether other people go through this same randomness of emotions.