A four-day weekend is a glorious thing ...
I'm not sure my husband would agree. When I looked at him this morning and suggested "picking up" a Christmas tree and another storage shelf that would allow us to better organize the boxes in the basement and get to the Christmas decorations, I might as well have punched him in the gut.
At any rate, despite almost losing his breakfast at the suggestion, my sweet husband proceeded to spend the next two hours tracking down the requested items and hauling them home in a truck borrowed from our dear friend.
This wouldn't seem like such a harrowing task be it not for the weeks that preceded. Last Thursday night we had to rush Scott's dad, George, to the hospital via ambulance for breathing trouble that turned out to be pneumonia and scored him a week-long stay, 3 of which were in ICU. Having just accepted a promotion to replace his boss who retired, Scott was more than a little stretched to take time off to be with his father in addition to staying on top of the additional responsibilities of his new position and the many typical urgent end of the year projects.
Add to that the early onset of frigid temperatures and the stir-crazy children that produces and our 8, 6 and 4 year old darlings have been more than a little challenging of late.
Which brings us to this morning.
What, on earth, possessed me to need these things accomplished today?
I really have no idea, other than the fact that in my late thirties I am realizing I have two speeds ... full-steam ahead or asleep. If I am not actively working to complete a goal, I have a hard time being motivated by the mundane (It shouldn't be a big surprise that stay-at-home-motherhood is more than a bit challenging for me.)
And I saw three days ahead of me and realized I could either start the momentum or potentially end up having wasted the entire time looking forward to my next nap. Not that naps are a bad thing. I regularly enjoy and celebrate them, but given the prospect of four unstructured days, it could have gotten completely out of hand.
Scott's brothers arrived shortly after 1 p.m. to our disheveled home as we attempted to get the Christmas tree upright in its stand and proceeded to assemble the storage shelf and rearrange the boxes. Quite the welcome to our home!
Then the Christmas tree fell. And we had to buy a new tree stand for our enormous tree. And I thought that was the end of Christmas trees at our house. But we got it upright, yet again.
So, this is us. This is our home these days. We're stretched. We're trying. We're tired. But we're putting one foot in front of the other and savoring each moment. And I'm so thankful for a husband willing to drag himself out despite exhaustion and mental and emotional drain.
And I plan for him to have a restful, relaxing day tomorrow, and I'm so thankful he's mine.