Blowing Raspberries

The stress in the Bicknell-Brown household during this lovely summer vacation has been...how should I say it? Of mushroom-cloud proportions?

I’m not going to bore you with a long four-page post of what’s been going on, but between my hubby’s hours being cut at work, the loss of my transportation and being confined at home for the last 3 ½ months, my family moving in for a week due to no power in their homes, a teen girl who *thinks* she’s in love and believes I should sprout feathers and fly her to see her bf every day, and all the nice plans I had for this summer being dashed to smithereens, I walk a very thin line that cuts through the lands of Insane Town and WhydoIbotherville.

Why do stressful times seem to snowball? One bad thing happens, followed by another crappy problem, and another, and another.... Whether it’s financial problems, health scares, teens tormenting you and everyone else in the house...it never seems to stop. No, it goes on for months!

I’m one who often bitches about the public school system and dread it when my children return to school because of the mountains of stupid paperwork (Seriously? They can’t send a card home that says “Any New Changes?” Yes or no. If yes, fill out the form below) and even when you do, the office personnel still screw it up and blame YOU for THEIR blunders (it took me half—I repeat—half a school year before I could get the middle school secretaries to change our cell number! Breathe, Faith, breathe!). I’m always the one who wails about the lack of common sense in the Board of Education offices, and the numerous inane laws that are passed every year.

But you know what? This year I’m looking forward to school starting!

Put on these clothes. Wear those shoes. Your backpack is by the door. Here’s your lunch. Now get the hell out of here!

I kid you not, I have a magnet in my ass. There’s no other explanation for the fact that whenever I go to the bathroom and shut the door, there’s a kid banging on it saying, “Hey, Mom...!” Or if I go outside to get away for a few minutes—even sitting in 107 degrees with humidity!—here come the kids, who suddenly decide they want to sit in the heat, too.

My gums are sore from clenching my teeth at night.

I have acid reflux so bad I could spit on the carpet and it would burst into flames.

I need to help the hubs with the finances, so I fret I’m not writing fast enough to submit more and more manuscripts, so then I freeze and make myself sick.

And I’ve been forgetting about the hose in the washer as it fills, flooding the laundry room floor. Oh, and let’s not forget the bacon, pancakes, etc., I forget about on the stove and return to find them smoking and so hard I could use them as hockey pucks.

Yeah, the stress is getting the best of me. I try not to let it, but it’s there all the same.

And not having wheels for nearly 4 months actually makes me feel sorry for anyone who’s under house arrest. I have been to church once, to the store twice, and two the local mom-and-pop store twice when the hubs went to get gasoline. [Blows raspberries as my eyes roll back in my head]

If anyone is going on vacation to a tropical region, stop by and pick me up, please. You don’t even have to land the plane, just toss down an extremely long life line and I’ll grab it on your way by.