Signs of a Struggle

Does anyone else ever fear that if a government agent showed up at their house unannounced that their children would be taken away?

Now don't get me wrong, we don't abuse sweet bebe (even though he woke me up this morning with an extra wet zerbert on my ear -- loud, sticky and wet!  BoNANza, the baby trifecta!).  And God knows he eats better than anyone else I know (even on my most frazzled days, I still find time to make him homemade hummus -- organic, of course).  And he definitely has the best wardrobe going (is that a CPS offense -- "poorly dressed in hand-me-downs from year's gone by Old Navy clearance?"). 

However, our house is a total wreck.  As in, if we were to go missing and the police searched the joint, in their report it would say "signs of a struggle."  There is mail and paper everywhere.  I have half-opened birthday gifts all over the place.  The Economist is piling up (btw, if you are a subscriber, you can download The Economist and someone will read it to you.  I know, I know, this is supremely lazy but, since bebe, I don't have time for a bubble bath with wine and The Economist -- the guiltiest of pleasures for geeks.  So now I have someone read it to me while I commute to graduate school.  I am pretty sure that this soliloquy is too long for a parenthetical reference but I can't be bothered to edit so you will simply have to adapt.  Apologies to really retentive readers.  Get a new blog if you are offended by entire sentences and thoughts consisting of "seriously?" and "boNANza."  It is free, what do you want for nothing?). 

But back to my train wreck of a life...  I still have not written thank you notes for bebe's Baptism gifts (his Baptism was in July.  I actually used to pride myself on my thank you notes.  Cute monogrammed paper (I am Southern; we heart monograms like no one else) with a heartfelt and humorous thanks.  Perhaps an enclosed newspaper article about something I found witty or interesting.  Now I am lucky to toss off a "thanks for the stuff" when I run into you at the farmer's market.  It is not that I don't have the best of intentions but to find five minutes, my stationery, a pen and stamps at the same time -- well, that is simply not possible of late).  Yes, another large parenthetical statement.  But how I love the word "parenthetical."  Say it out loud with me ... it is a crowd pleaser.

I have paperwork for my trip to India all over the place.  There are gift certificates from silent auction items (that expired years ago) languishing in drawers.  We have not been able to walk in to the office in over a year.  Honestly, our office is the definition of "leap of faith."  You have to leap over a pile of random stuff and have faith that you will find solid footing upon your landing.  I did this once while 9 months pregnant, landed on glossy (read slick, not solid) magazines, skidded across the room and plowed into the glass door of what is perhaps the world's largest armoire.  Seriously, I feared that the baby and I were doomed.  I, honestly, don't think I have been in the office closet since -- too harrowing. 

Hell, I used to read.  For pleasure (not accounting texts or Good Night, Moon -- does anyone else find that lady and her cat creepy?  I have changed over to Suess for bed time cuddles, that Moon lady gives me the sheemies).  I used to read at least two books a week.  Now I am lucky to get that done in a month.  Once again, my mantra of "what has happened to me?"

Has this happened to anyone else out there?  I would love to hear about it if so...