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Life on the Edge

We’re in the quicksand of coping.

Ron has been doing the HB Arts Festival (and yes, I love that when I shorten that to #hbaf it seems like I’m saying HB as fuck. Because, when you think about it, it’s really fucking apt) for, like, everrrrrrr. He’s gone most mornings at about 8:30 and back at midnight or later. The kids are missing him. I am missing him. I am missing him so much I had to blame him for the fact that I broke the window on Sunday. It’s that bad.

I am teetering on the edges of not-coping-anymore due to the sheer length of my to-do list. These are things, like scraping, sanding, painting windows, that are better suited to doing without kids around. At the moment I don’t have that option.

Except yesterday my friend came and took them for the day. I filled, sanded, undercoated, sanded, 1st-top-coated the shit out of the window in the kitchen all while cooking a curry in the slow cooker and breathing regularly. Fleetingly, I felt like superwoman.

Sometimes, friends are what sanity looks like.


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