...to acknowledge the crazy lady

...and put her away for another day

There are some moments when I feel like I am making quite a bit of progress on this move and others (especially of late) when the whole task seems completely overwhelming.

overwhelming = stressful

Let me tell you what stressful is.  Stressful is not being able to find a hairbrush in the morning (when trying to send the kids off to school) despite the fact that we have no less than five of them.

Because....the bathroom looks like this:

I maintain that the movers did this.  And I am sticking to my story.

Will's comment:  "What exploded in here?"

Who likes this kid anyway?

I feel like I work in spurts...mostly when the little girls are napping or when everyone else is sleeping.  This means of course that I am not sleeping.  And then I am not well rested and there are so many thing to do and then of course I am grumpy and then...well you get the picture.

I was eaves-dropping on Isabella when she was talking to Mark on the phone yesterday (well really she was talking to him on the speaker phone and I was sitting next to her).  And she made a comment that struck me.  It was something like, "Well the crazy lady has come out quite a bit more since we have moved here."

I had to chuckle, because at least she too can find a little humor in my stress.

And Mark's response was something like, "The next time you start to see the 'crazy lady' come out, stand there and count to ten out loud at her (as if I wasn't standing there listening to them have this conversation about me)."

So later in the afternoon, there  I was having some kind of altercation with Abigail.

Let me tell you...my number three, really knows how to push my buttons.

Well Isabella was witness to my 'growing frustrations' and sure enough as I tune into her voice I hear, "nine...ten...eleven...twelve".

And there...she brought me back down.

Brought my awareness back to a level of recognition that I was dealing with a three-year-old.

And who can argue or for that matter win when dealing with a three-year-old.  And certainly there is not much use in getting too upset over it!

Thank you Isabella (and of course Mark) for that little reminder.