I am continually surprised by the passage of time. How is that even possible? Being continually surprised? What kind of idiot does not eventually stop being surprised by the same thing happening over and over? This kind, apparently, because here I am all, “Dude, where has the time gone??” Seriously.
It’s 9 am. I woke up at 6:30 am and could not get back to sleep, so I’ve spent the past 150 minutes reading trashy romance novels, watching inane youtube videos, reading exhaustive blog posts about annoying and exhaustive subjects, peeking at a couple non-exhaustive and non-annoying blog posts (thank you, madhousewife), and finally ending up here. I was curious to see just how long it had been since I had posted anything. Did you know this is my first post in 2014?? Good. Honk.
So what am I doing here, you ask? Or maybe you’re not asking. You’re probably not asking because you’re probably not reading because why on earth after 9 months of silence would you think to check in at Bythelbsia, in which case I am just talking to myself which is really nothing new. And I’m okay with that because I really like listening to me sometimes. Have you ever gone back and read your old blog posts or old journals or old letters and been completely enamored of yourself? No? It’s just me? Sometimes I go back and read old blog posts or comments and think, “Ahhh, there you are. I’ve missed you, my funny, witty, thoughtful, slightly more interesting than not friend.” (Yes, I am still speaking to myself.) Seriously, it’s a healthy exercise to remind yourself you are more than the trashy romance novel reading, inane youtube video watching, exhaustive and annoying blogpost devouring waste of space you’ve been pretending to be for the past however many months it’s been since you’ve done anything more constructive than keep your children alive.
Wow. I am beginning to sound like I am in a not so wonderful place, which is really inaccurate. I am in a could be more wonderful place, which is entirely different.
Tomorrow I leave on vacation. I am overwhelmed by the volume of tasks I have to accomplish in the less than 24 hours I have until departure. Overwhelmed. I am drowning in whelm. I think I’m feeling a lot of pressure to make this vacation good because it is entirely possible this is the last summer vacation the entire Bythelbs clan will take together. Mr. T graduated two weeks ago and will be heading off to university (I love the way foreigners say university) in the fall and has plans to leave next summer on a two year mission for our church. I guess it’s unlikely that our family will NEVER vacation together again, but it is possible. And it’s very possible this will be the last time we’ll vacation together as the family we are now. Next time we could be saddled with annoying spouse in-laws or obnoxious grandchildren (what the frick? Did someone just say grandchildren??). Things may never be the same again. (And now I can’t stop singing, “I keep forgettin’ we’re not in love anymore. I keep forgettin’ things will never be the same again.” *Sigh* They just don’t make them like Michael MacDonald anymore.)
So, the pressure. Which is rather silly, really, since surely by now my kids know me well enough not to expect vacation perfection. There are at least three certainties in the life of a Bythelbs womb fruit: 1) I can expect at least 2-3 whatever night dinners a week (4-5 in summer), 2) I will never have to listen to country music in my parents’ home, and 3) At some point, Mom WILL completely lose it on vacation. But there’s comfort in the known, right?
Aw gees, it’s 9:47 am. Things must be done, people. Must. So I’m off–like a dirty shirt.