Joyeux Anniversarie & Noel!

I probably didn't spell that correctly in French, but then again most of English is misspelled French ;0). I can't help trying to do it though, it's my NOLA roots. It was 11 years ago today (literally) that I slept like a log, woke up to a gourmet bubble bath, a morning mani/pedi,  a breakfast buffet in a hotel with my "besties" and again I  took a nap (people still have a hard time hearing that) in my own little bridal suite at the grand church where my husband and I said "I do." and "I do too."

So much has changed since we first got married: babies, betters, worsts, rich-er (not in money mind you), poorer (definitely in money), but all in all, if I had to do it all over again (bearing in mind what financial investments I would and would not have made), I still woulda said "I do." I can't even say that my life is rosy at this point. In fact, I'm kinda wondering where the betters are, but I do know this: Regardless of what life throws at me, my spouse, my marriage and my children, I still trust God. I won't let go of Him, otherwise I don't believe I'd still be married (or have children). I suppose that makes sense because the marriage covenant is between God, my spouse and me. If we don't include Him, it's not a complete contract and you know what happens when contracts go bust. . .

Oh yes, update: I've just finished month 2 of my master's program and I think I'm going to need another brain.  Hopefully, I will be well enough at the end of the program to be able to use what I've learned if I can remember it. Well, at least there's the Holidays. . .

Ok sooo. . .

Ok sooo, here I am again posting after three months of silence. It's not that I don't have anything important to say but I think I've become a harried housewife. You know, too much to do and adding on more because it wouldn't feel actually right to slow down. I can't sit down because there are dishes to wash, clothes to wash and to iron, children and spouse(s) to feed, baby to nurse, carpets to vacuum, beds to make, floors to mop and wax, and when and if all of that is done somehow I must make myself not look like the bride of Frankenstein's Monster by washing and curling my hair, putting on matching clothes that don't start with "sweat" and if for no other reason than to avoid being followed by strange and otherworldly smells, I must take a shower. If I can manage all of those things before midnight I can go to bed only to begin the circus all over again around 5:30 in the morning. Now with all that said: How on earth under heaven did I find the time to write this? Simple. It is my vent. If I don't write my mental illness called life will get out of control and my brain will implode. Writing is my Valium. Writing allows me to balance the chemicals for a lot less than the cost of a Prozac or Opium and I can look back on what ever I was venting about and laugh, cry or whatever because life circumstances never, ever last forever. Life is constantly changing and I am learning to adapt with Grace: Day by day, moment by moment. So if you are feeling like a harried housewife, a harassed husband, a convoluted companion, whatever. Find your vent. Save your brain.