Monday, February 28, 2011
Letter to Myself
If I could see the future, I would have written this letter to myself before last week:
Take a deep breath. Here's what's about to go down. You're going to have a lot of conference calls scheduled and some major writing deadlines, but those aren't really going to matter, because your two year old is going to have a major allergic reaction to her second antibiotic and break out in hives and a general case of toddler meanness. You will feel sorry for her, even when she smashes her juice bottle into your face for kicks and pulls the cat's tail and - well - you'll see.
Oh yeah. And it's going to last all week, and she's going to have a cold on top of it.
And then - when things are going really well - it's going to snow again. A lot. And THEN - get this - the old copper pipes in your farmhouse are going to give up on life and drench your living room ceiling in beautiful brown spots.
And the ceiling will need to come down.
But that's cool, because you've already made a mess of the dining room, which you and the Dogtor are attempting to paint yourselves after stripping the wallpaper.
Did I mention how much the toddler is not going to support your efforts? Try and maximize painting during nap time. Except I should probably tell you that she's not going to nap on Sunday.
Keep the cats out of the paint and remember to bend over and wipe 16 snowy paws when the dogs come in - oh that's right. Bending over kind of sucks for you right now, huh?
But look - everything's fine. You're just 27 weeks pregnant. Let the sound of ceiling demolition soothe your nerves and fill you with delight. Let the iced over driveway bring you peace. Let the toddler rage in all her glory. (and God bless the heroic Dogtor.)