My house is a mess. And not that cute new catchphrase - beautiful mess - that everyone is using. No. Just your plain, old, run-of-the-mill mess. Well, run-of-the-mill if you happen to have three boys who view nothing as trash, two dogs who insist on acting like dogs, and one husband who tries his best to keep up when mama's been grounded from most physical activity.
I have a new Dyson vacuum. New. I need to show it around. I need to make it feel welcome. I need to introduce it to all the nooks and crannies in our home that collect all kinds of sinister things. I neeeeeed to.
I need to do laundry, which I cannot carry downstairs to the laundry room. I need to, I need to, I need to ...
I need to dust. HA! That I can do!
You get the picture. I am trying incredibly hard to steer my body into healing several wound separations from my breast reduction surgery a month ago. (Go Google it.) And my surgeon grounded me.
So I have two different, lovely friends coming over today at different times; and they will both want to do things for me. And I will not let them, because I have an unbelievably hard time doing that. It makes me feel awful. And I hate even more when I have to ask for help. I absolutely love, love, love doing things for others; but when it comes to needing help myself, I'm a bit stubborn unless backed into a corner.
So when a time comes when I am less than up-to-par, I tend to just disappear - try to fade away - until I'm me again.
So now I must go fade for awhile; and ignore, as best I can until the shakes begin, the monumental mess I am having to try and "rest" in the middle of.
This will be fun.