Heavy Artillery

I had a rough week. My 38th birthday, my 20 year high school reunion, and PMS all within 4 days of each other. It's been very emotional and otherworldly. I had this feeling of not being stable in time. I spent yesterday in a fog - I thought I might just be hungover. And I was, but not in the alcoholic sense.

My adorable husband bought me a Cannon Rebel T3 for my birthday. It was an extravagence, and on my wish list for years. I didn't use it for 24 hours because I couldn't quite believe it was mine. I let the girls have turns on it yesterday (shhh! don't tell Hubby!), because I like to see their perspective on things. I got a lot of pictures of the carpet, or me with undone hair and a double chin, but I got some beauties too. Like this one:

This one punched me in the stomach. This is me: going through life popping bubbles with a hammer. Doing the job, totally enthusiastically, but it's just too much. I work SO HARD at everything: raising my children, budgeting, volunteering at the school, teaching, organizing my little life. I end up exhausted and wondering why the heck things aren't working perfectly since I work so hard at it. Well, my friends, my choice of tool is the problem. Twin A here could've used a chopstick, or heck, her finger, to do the same job. She would have popped the same amount of bubbles, but with less exertion and less danger.

I get it. I'm putting down the hammer. I'm going to try to not work so hard. I'm figuring out when my fingers will work just as well. Here's to another day of handing the kids the camera. (Shhh! Don't tell Hubby.)