Month: March 2018

Everybody Needs a Boxer for a Pillow

Justin has been a real punk lately. Not in the “you don’t appreciate me,” sense–it’s more: “you’re supposed to be the voice of reason in this relationship!”

In the last 4 days, he has tagged me in about 6 Facebook posts about dogs needing to be rehomed; two of those dogs are boxers! And Sunday my neighbor called and asked me to please adopt their boxer.

Wait, only yesterday I was in tears about how I have too much on my plate!

BUT THEY’RE BOXERS!!!

I have a real soft spot in my heart for those big dopey schmoopy faces. They are underbite and muscles and drool and trouble. And I love them all.

Where is my boxer farm already, Mr Steeves?!

In the meantime, I have to stay strong and resist all temptations to adopt all unwanted dogs in the Kentuckiana region. I want them all. But, I have to be my own voice of reason and tell myself, “no, Sam. You can’t–”

“But what if I quit my job!?”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I know. But–”

“No.”

Fine. Grant me the strength I need to not adopt three more giant trouble making smooshy faces.

I won’t do it. But I sure do want to.

I have to work. To save up. For my boxer farm. Or, mostly my home for old grouchy dogs who just want to take naps.

When in Doubt, Cry it Out

I’ve been having a rough week. There is no real cause, other than depression is sometimes a rollercoaster of awesome emotions. I have found myself in tears daily.

Not just in tears, but crying as my boss talked to me.

Did I screw up? Yes. Was I in trouble? No. Was I crying because of the talk(s)? NO!

He took it like a champ. “Well now, don’t cry about it.”

“It isn’t that!” And then came straight sobbing. Which always makes me hold my breath, in a sorry attempt to stop it. Which, let’s be honest, only makes it worse.

That was Monday.

Tuesday, different talk, more tears.

I locked myself in the bathroom and had a good long sob. Pity party for one.

I thought I was good. I thought I had it under control.

Five minutes later, I was hiding in the locker room, sobbing once more. There comes a point when you realize you just have to give in and allow yourself to not be ok.

I honestly love my job, but sometimes I have regrets: I am not the type of person who can do it all. Single working moms are real life super heroes, and this past few days have been another chunk of time where I question my though process: what made me think I could go from being a Stay At Home Mom whose husband was here, to being a Full Time Working Mom whose husband was on the other side of the globe!?

My morning started off no better. This is the point in the story where I also explain that my blood pressure has been astronomically high lately. While I was making breakfasts and lunches and FaceTiming Justin, our children were going to war, simply because Shea likes to torment her little brother, and Xander likes to hold a grudge and retaliate. Justin gets to calmly sit and eat his dinner, while I try to keep this insanity in check.

Luckily for my boss, I got my daily dose of crying out of the way before he came in this morning. Honestly though, when I pulled in and saw he wasn’t there, I could hear him saying, “I just don’t think I can handle another day of Sam cryin’!” And I finally think I got all of it out of my system.

Until the next breakdown. Because depression doesn’t play by any set of rules. Depression is just that uninvited guest that shows up and eats all your ice cream, and doesn’t help you do dishes. What a jerk.