Anatomy of a breakdown

I've been trying to hold it together, honestly. I strive for an extra level of self-awareness to compensate for the wacky post partum and breastfeeding hormones that are trying to kill me. I try to compensate when I feel like clubbing baby animals or hiding in the closet or driving into walls, and so far, all animals, closets, and cars are accounted for, so I can't be doing too badly, right?

Just this week, I have had to deal with several sick children, court for stupid environmental fines, and my 5 year old hating school. Yes, I know, there are many worse things happening to many (most) people in the world, but through the lens of my looming post partum nuttiness, this has all felt really overwhelming. But! Until today, I've been carrying on, however gracelessly. Now I believe I have met my Waterloo in the form of my own fat.

After twin B's doctor appointment this morning (more on that later if I ever tire of whining about my own sorry self), I ran out to Target to make one last attempt to find an outfit for my husband's reunion. My friend Cole already found a lovely shirt, but I'm apparently looking for an outfit with magical properties that will transform me into my own mental self-image, which seems to be stuck around age 23 and size 8.

So, I went shopping. I tried on much and liked little. I found a suitably non-hideous skirt, but by then my three year old had tired of the fitting room, so I grabbed a shirt off the rack without trying it on. I came home and tried everything on, and it all fits and feels good, and doesn't even look terrible in the mirror. But. Then. I couldn't convince #4 to take my picture, and I don't remember how to do the time-delay self-portrait thing, so I put the camera on video and then hustled to get in front of it, then back to turn it off. And oh my god, the horror. Not only do I look like a badly upholstered piece of furniture, but I positively WADDLE.

I'm going to change #3's name to Gilbert and just eat fried chicken until my heart gives out. And I don't even like fried chicken. Halloween candy, on the other hand...

Okay, now that that embarassing outpouring of self-pity is behind me, an update on the aforementioned challenges of the week.

Environmental fine hearing - This was surprisingly entertaining. The hearing itself was so-so - I got the fines reduced but not eliminated, but at least the judge and cop were pleasant. The entertainment came in the form of the other people waiting for hearings. While we waited, we compared notes on our fines. One woman explained what she had learned from a city employee, that ignorance of the law does not excuse breaking the law. Logical enough, right? Another woman, who was already quite animated by this point in the discussion, did not appreciate being thusly enlightened. Her response (and imagine, if you will, a rather large woman, encased in chenille and velvet, with 3" long green fingernails, a cluster of hairs erupting from a mole next to her mouth, and gold lipstick), accompanied by wild gesticulation, was "you ain't gonna call ME ignorant, okay, just because, okay, I didn't KNOW, okay, what the law was."

Okay.

I had to actually turn my head away and do the fake cough thing to keep from bursting into gales of laughter or replying that the only time you may call me ignorant is when I don't know something. I wish I could have recorded the whole exchange, it was absolutely hilarious.

Plague - We are all (minus my husband, who daily flees the house like the coward breadwinner he is, and therefore gets regular doses of germ-free air) suffering to some degree from a cold. I haven't bothered mentioning it, because a) I've been in too much of a funk to post much, and b) after the strep and rotavirus of 2 weeks ago, a cold barely merits my attention. Until today, when #6 woke up gasping for breath, coughing hoarsely, and wheezing. We went through this with #4 when he was little, so it's a little less alarming than it would otherwise be, but generally speaking, I like my children breathing, so it's still a bit nerve-wracking. I took him to the doctor, but the tricky part of this kind of thing is that it always gets worse in the evening, after the doctor is gone, so we may end up in the ER. Never a good time.

So, things here sort of low-grade suck, and tomorrow we're off to Delaware for the reunion, if #6 is well enough and I'm not either naked or in an asylum (or naked at an asylum). I know you'll miss me and my rays of sunshine!