After one week alone with the kids, I am starting to get a little frustrated and short-tempered. Bunny, while not listening to me, dragged a chair over my 30-minute-old pedicure this morning and I wanted to pummel...something. It's impossible to keep their stuff all in one place and clean up after them and conform to my mom's standards of housekeeping...everyone is a leetle testy. Thank god J. arrives tomorrow night. I'd like to get in at least one swim without a small child clinging to my torso like a baby koala.
Still haven't had time to finish my Christmas shopping. Keep meaning to find time to do that, but there is none. (Friends and family back home, you're just going to have to wait until after the holidays...my shit is not together this year.) On top of it all, work has been crazy. I can't get out from under it and it's frustrating to have to peck away at my keyboard while watching the palm trees swaying out the window. That is adding to my grumpiness.
Christmas the past couple of years has been a time of change. Last year we moved back to California on Christmas Day. I can't believe it's already been a year. This year, having completely chickened out on the San Francisco school search, we've decided we're leaving San Francisco for the mellower, sunnier 'burbs. J. has a new job outside of the city and he's taking us with him. We move in a month and it feels good not to have to think about the school thing anymore.
I know. I said we're moving. Again. We find subleters and we pack boxes. It's what we do.
In two weeks we return home to San Francisco's cold, foggy embrace and begin packing for the 10th time in the 12 years we've been married, the 5th time since Bunny was born. She's already declared our present house "old' and thinks our next house should be "all one level" like my brother's rancher. That shouldn't be too tall an order for the 'burbs.
I wonder when life will ever return to normal?
Wait. This is normal.
