Exhaustion

I'm not going to sit here and whine about how tired I am, about how holiday prep, etc. has kicked my worthless butt. Mostly because I know that not one of you would feel sorry for me. And unless I can evoke some kind of sympathy, then really? Why bother?

Okay, I lied, I'm totally going to whine.

Actually, today kind of rocks because as of this weekend (where I logged about 6 hours sewing) I got the aprons made, my shopping done, the presents wrapped (5.5 rolls of wrapping paper later), Christmas cards sent and I cleaned the office for the last time this year. Woo-freaking-hoo on that one, I tried to think of a million different reasons to not come in and clean. None of them were good enough. Not even when my husband danced around in front of my face with a beer in his hand - shaking it at me, telling me how cold it was outside, could I justify staying home. Although his awesome dance could have swayed weaker people.

I did not get the laundry done, bathrooms cleaned, my hair bleached or my bedroom unearthed from the mass of Christmas "goodness" it has become. So if you come to my house you will not find any clean underpants (why are you looking anyway), you will be witness to urine spots on my toilet (you'll get over it), you can marvel over the inch of dark blonde roots (shut up!) and if you go in my bedroom, make the bed, would ya (thanks)?

This chick is pooped. You have to know that I was busy all weekend when my husband not only threw in a load of laundry but then didn't even complain when I had to retrieve his underwear and socks from the dryer this morning, only then to find he was totally out of undershirts and ended up wearing a Royals freebie t-shirt that said MUSTARD across the chest under his button down. Classy.

I also forgot to mention that you can throw in there that we had friends over for dinner on Saturday night. Jason put out the best spread of Mexican food EVER! (It's a good thing I NEVER exaggerate, isn't it?) However, on the way to our house, our friend made his wife pull over so he could toss his cookies on the side of the road. When he got to our house he laid on the couch and ate Saltines. She and their girls ate and an hour later they headed back out again. I don't know if they were the best dinner guests or the worst I've ever had. I decided on the best when I was in my pajamas by 9:00, drinking a beer and relaxing.

The whole weekend ended with my son head butting me with a football helmet and asking me why I was such a butt face.

Except that wasn't my son, that was my husband.

Happy Monday!