Vacation weather

The last week in August is nice, only because I don't have to go to work.

That's nice.

But this week, the first several days, it's been brutally hot and humid. Really puts a damper on my to-do list. You know those to-do lists that people slowly acquire, but can never really get to until they have some time off somewhere? Yea, that's the one.

It's Friday and I have 2 out of 7 finished. Meh.

The limit

I enjoy long walks. Hikes. I can be on my feet longer than anyone else I know. But I don't know my limit. I never reached it, because whoever I was with needed to stop.

Yesterday I went to the NYS Fair with my brother. We were there for 13 hours. My watch recorded 31,313 steps. (I usually reach a third of that, depending on how work is going). Oddly, I felt like I could have kept on going. There was nothing left to do. My brain was mush - my syntax was screwy. I was a purveyor of word salads. I sat in the car and felt nothing, but discovered upon returning home that getting out of the car was... difficult.

I slept for 10 hours.

According to my food log, and compared to my watch, I burned more than twice as many calories as I ate. I suppose that was my first mistake. Having since eaten, I can think again, although perhaps today is better left to academic pursuits.

Well being

I've managed my entire adult life to not let my issues become a burden to other people, but I realized that if I kept doing that, it might just kill me.

That wasn't hyperbole.

I've taken stock of my lifestyle and compared it to my genetics. I *think* I'm doing alright. My mental health, on the other hand, has taken a serious beating for the last 20 years or so. Either I'm insanely psychologically resilient, or I'm an emotional marshmallow that just puffs right back out.

Either way, the last couple of years has shown me that I need to make some adjustments to my coping mechanisms. First thing I needed to do was actually say something.

Can't take it back now.

Coming home

Every day when I come home from work, I have to sneak through the door. If I make any noise, I lose my head start. You see, all I want to do is put my things down. My keys go on the hook, my glasses go on the shelf next to the hook... that sort of thing.

Because once my daughter hears me, she comes running right for me, screaming the entire time.

It sounds cute, but she doesn't slow down. I have to catch her or I get knocked over. If she's upstairs, she will skip five steps at a time in her efforts to knock me over faster. I have to catch her. Fact is, I need my hands empty to greet this girl or it gets messy.

Today I didn't make it. She took me down. She giggled, said "no no, punch ya butt", then did just that.

Go the f*ck to sleep

I could wax philosophical about childrens bedtime patterns. I could go on at length about how good routine helps children fall asleep easier. (They receive all the cues that trigger blah blah blah)

I could say all of this if it wasn't complete crap.

My daughter puts herself to bed. She's three, and she grabs her blanket, turns off her light, and dismisses me without any further fuss. My oldest son grabs an audio book and quietly sequesters himself. His brother simply goes to bed and lies down.

But among all this, it only takes one kid to ruin everyone's evening. Every scrap of well-meaning advice is hot garbage in the face of blistering reality.