Pressure makes them pop

I love pressure, I thrive on pressure, pressure is my friend. But looking back at last week, it’s no wonder that I’ve been avoiding my computer because the last thing I want to do is write about pressure. Too. Much. Pressure.

First there is Rex and the panicky feeling I get every time I think about trying to help him with school and friends and German. I know that keeping him in this school is not the easy choice for either of us, but for those of you out there who are wondering why I suck at being a mom because I haven’t yanked him, it’s because GOD DOESN’T WANT ME TO. That revelation came to me in capital letters so I felt it was only appropriate to share it in the same manner.

Then there is this small problem of My Stuff. It has been over three months since I’ve lived with my household goods and I am starting to unravel because I don’t have my sewing machine or my duct tape or my safety pin jar or my staple gun or my glue gun or my rubber cement or my favorite heels or any of the things that normally help when life begins to unravel. We are still in House Buying Limbo, trying to figure out the best way to purchase that house we really like, or whether it’s even going to be possible. Our stuff should technically be here in three days but until we know where we’re actually going to live, it has to remain in cold storage.

Am I living here? Are we moving to the other house? If we don’t get the other house, will we try for a different house? Should we just buy a van and park it down by the river? The kids would love that. Jason told me yesterday “not to worry” because “our stuff can stay in storage for three more months” while we figure things out.

Cause that would be so awesome.

I said no problem, I’ll just go buy us a new sewing machine and 300 storage bins and get right to work filling them while we wait. He just loved that idea.

And so, I would now like to share with you my Top Secret Methodfor Coping with Pressure. It is so top secret that I keep it from myself and refuse to acknowledge it out loud.

I like to watch my weight, so I routinely regulate my chocolate intake. But last week I found myself, more than once, sneaking away from Annie down to the basement and quickly stuffing two full-sized Reese’s Peanut Butter cups in my mouth before she found me. She hates to put those things into her digital calorie counter so we try to keep them a secret.

Between the candy bars and the bag of chocolate chips and the dozen chocolate chip cookies and the bag of Oreo’s and the Belgium chocolate…I consumed enough chocolate last week to invite an entire acne village into my world.

As of this morning I look like a 14-year-old girl, and my emergency cover-up stick is in storage. (I can think of about 17 funny things to say about zits and pressure, but I’ll save you from the sarcasm.)