So yesterday was hubby’s 39th bday and father’s day. I actually made a cake….I never bake! I even let my lil chilly’s help. It was so cute. Went to visit the in laws at their beautiful property. It was lovely. I had the world’s crappiest sleep as my kids insisted on sleeping both with me in a twin bed. The in laws have a guest cottage but we opted to just sleep in the kids room, as not to have my mil have to clean the cottage (they are type a clean freaks). So dear hubby got a nice twin all to himself, while the munchkins forced me to sleep on two inches of bed with a knee in my back and random body parts flopped around on me at two hour intervals. I know I am loved dearly but jeez. So I wake up to my rooster son, everyday around six….yay me! Throat raw, stuffed up. I felt like I sawed a whole forest down with my snoring.
Fast forward , we get home and I cave. I went off strike to clean and organize my kid’s rooms. Toys, clothes, all of it. Hubs actually helped…I about fell over. He felt bad, it was actually horrendous. They are tazmanian devils leaving a path of broken crayons and Legos in their wakes. It is like being a cartel mule trying to smuggle out old toys while they are around. So my 30 days was celebrated feverish, blowing my bloody nose, while cleaning. But I would have never done this hungover, so it is my confetti of broken crayon bits I enjoyed silently. I didn’t even tell hubby it was 30 days…but he thinks every day I am truely me is wonderful. That is enough.