PlazaJen: Passion Knit

...so it can be returned to its owner, me.

Oh my lord. Things feel a little unravelly. I went to CostCo last night to shop & get more things for James' lunch, and some basics for us. I've been making him a sack lunch each day, and it's worked out quite well - I make up the sacks of packaged things for a few weeks at a time, and then just make a sandwich each morning, grab a sack at random, and off he goes. He likes it, he doesn't leave school ravenous (which was why in previous years he found himself in many a drive-thru for an after-school meal), and I like doing it, because it feels like I'm taking care of him & gives me the opportunity for some surprises. Not all those surprises are planned. Today, I got an email from him - I made him a sandwich this morning, even mixed it up a little more than usual with ham AND turkey, plus some spicy mustard with the Miracle Whip - and apparently? I left it on the counter. Didn't put it in his lunch tote. CRIMINY!

Add to that the fact that when I bought milk at CostCo? I bought WHOLE MILK. We drink skim. I can't stand whole milk, though I think I'd enjoy it in a milkshake, because ice cream makes everything better, and I was astonished. Disbelieving, in fact. Asked him three times if he was sure I'd bought the wrong thing. Well, there's no denying milk that coats the interior of a glass like housepaint. Jesus. He at least likes it ok, but we both know it's as good for us as melting a stick of butter and chugging it.

I'm not losing my mind, I've lost it. I guess I'm stressed & it's just shorting out the normal/habit-formed synapses of my brain, because I'm in such triage with everything else, and my gnomes can't even take a look at the sparking cables that are flailing around unattached. We just sigh and shake our heads (me and the gnomes) and vow to try harder next time. And seriously, if you see my brain - and some of the resident gnomes - just galloping down the street, chugging a Colt 45 and mooning the traffic, would you please shake it, give it a stern talking-to, and send it back, please?

Labels: stress