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Does it ever occur to any of you that your bathroom is the perfect metaphor for your life? Like you spend every day wiping up the soap scum that inevitably reappears overnight, and that you could probably save yourself an inordinate amount of time and energy if you just collapsed on the soggy bath mat and watched as the mildew from your shower stall slowly, but surely, took over the entire thing?

Right. Me neither.

But if I did, hypothetically, feel a mite fatalistic right now, I think you would agree that it might be within my rights. Next Friday is the last day my shop will be open. Let me say, making that decision and getting the announcement out there was a blessed relief. However….

Every morning since then, I’ve woken up with a “You have GOT to be kidding me. Are we still making cookies?” attitude. Forget ripping the bandaid off slowly: this is more like a Brazilian wax done by a sadist and it’s happening one excruciating hair at a time. Every day is the longest day of my life. I woke up yesterday convinced that it must be Saturday because I had clearly been at work twelve days this week already.

Like this, but more painful.

Plus, I have to get rid of my stupidly adorable cat, which on top of everything else seems patently unfair. He had a bladder infection two years ago and despite the roughly fifty thousand attempts at retraining him, he stubbornly insists of peeing at the sites of his old crimes. I already have five children intent upon destroying every thing I own (most recently while attempting to teach themselves to juggle oranges…which really looks just like flinging the fruit willy nilly across the dining room. I mean, what could go wrong?) six is proving just one vandal too many. Since I am legally required to retain the offspring, poor TJ has to go.

And finally, to add insult to injury, I may have the teensiest bald spot on the back of my head. Not sure. I’m operating with a design flaw that is preventing me from getting a full, 360 degree look at the situation. If its true, god help me, this is the one thing that might push me right over the brink.

So, yeah, my life seems a little bit like a toilet at the moment. I am trying to shine it up, though. I started a girls running club for my twin daughters and their friends. Mostly it’s just an excuse to eat Popsicles. (As if you need an excuse to eat Popsicles.) I also have started riding my bike to work which serves the dual purposes of providing a very pleasant means of exercise and letting me troll for my latest obsession; alley houses.

(Alley houses are those teeny tiny homes set on the backside of the lot, and I’ve wanted to live in one as long as I can remember. Hubby, in his new-found environmentalism/zen master/survivalist mode has recently come on board so the plan is to move into one as soon as we can rush these kids out of here. So far I’ve found twelve. Twelve perfect little houses to hold my perfect, tidy future life.)

so cute!

I realize that my current coping methods are all about avoidance; running away, biking away, moving away, but you’d  want to leave, too. My current life is crowded, covered in stray hairs ( Mine. Sob.) and smells like cat urine. Luckily, the situation is temporary. In little more than a week, it all changes and I’ll have a most rare gift; the opportunity to completely reset my life.

If I’m smart (shut it, weisenheimers) I will be able to deliberately structure my life to include all the missing, little pieces which make me happy and peaceful. So far that list includes naps, more writing and Popsicles for breakfast. (Banana flavored. Totally legit.) Other than that, I’m not sure. I’m excited to find out, though. And If I can just make it through the seemingly never-ending days until next Friday, I will.

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The Rise & Fall of a Momocracy

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