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Yesterday, I shared how I was losing hope. Coldageddon has left me a shell of my former self and yes, I’m still in my robe. And yes, I’m still itchy.
But I do have yesterday’s eyeliner and mascara still on, so there’s still a sliver of hope after all.
I also mentioned that the only parenting responsibility I could take on was making sure everyone lived to see tomorrow. As long as they weren’t in the knife drawer or taking my car out for a spin, we’re good. I just dumped snacks on the floor and begged for deliverance.
I also willingly let them play with markers just barely supervised. It was the only way I could guarantee they didn’t snack me the death by a thousand cracker/grapes/cereal/banana/bread & butter/popsicle/ribeye steak requests.
And then things got quiet.
“What are you doing?” I coarsely yelled.
Liars. But sometimes we have to believe the lie because we know we can’t survive the truth.
Finally, I drug myself from the couch, walking like the hunchback of Notre Dame. I opened the bathroom door. My hand trembled. Please God, don’t let them be in the toilet.
No. But was this better?
I pulled out my camera. I may be sick, but I still have my priorities. Shot a photo. Coughed for 10 minutes. Then told them not to eat the markers and just … left …
Because I can’t. I just can’t, y’all. And I won’t. Not today, maybe tomorrow. But not today.
And I think I’m all out of tissues.