I'm a little stressed out. I don't mind sharing.
I've got an Andre the Giant sized handful of projects and orders to get out before Christmas, and even though I'm sewing like a mad momma...where are the finished products?
I'll tell ya. They're in the flooded toilets. The pukey sheets. The sibling rivalry.
They're stuck in the sucker punch that caused a good week's worth of contention, squashing all hopes of brotherly love. They're in the goldfish and vanilla wafers building their own community under my couch. They're all wrapped up in the day Kacie could reach the door handles; and destroy whatever is at peace within.
The cushion forts. The diaper rash. The abyss of menu planning. The advil.
They're in that place in my head where logic meets exhaustion.
Whoa, I guess I just called those interruptions kids. yikes.
I suppose if my chidren were publicly whining about their stress levels, they would call the interrruptions projects.
To those of you who are patiently waiting on me for goodies, thank you for not sending me emails in CAPS. I apologize. I'm working, I promise.