Dreams of Snail-hood

The sleepy, chemo-riddled, steroid-sleep-deprived momma moves ever so purposely toward the  coffee pot as sunlight begins to peek through the clouds of exhaustion...

Welcome to my day.

Or, at least, how my morning is feeling thus far.  A pictorial representation of the essence of my being, so to speak.

Some days?  You wake up feeling like you need to take it a little more slowly than you have been, that you have been too long amidst the whirlwind and need some time in a sea of calm winds and fair weather.  Or at least some approximation thereof, since you can't exactly order up the entirety of your day in one fell swoop.   (Oh, would that I could.  Imagine the possibilities of ordering your best day from a menu of awesome possibilities and then having it unfold exactly as planned.  Bliss!)


If I could this morning, I would select something quiet and sedate, with perhaps a gentle breeze and a picnic by a lake somewhere lovely, somewhere out of one of those English period films where everyone is dressed in finery and the servants do all the cooking and the dishes afterwards.  One of those days where you feel that Mr. Darcy could walk out of the lake in his shirttails at any moment, as you nap comfortably in a hammock amid the gently swaying trees at the water's edge.

This is definitely one of those days for me. 

Everything is screaming...scratch that...everything is whispering that I need to take a deep, relaxing breath and take it easy on myself and everyone around me today.

Alas, my dreams of snail-hood will have to wait.

It is dance recital weekend.  That dreaded fixed point in time when hair must be wrangled into a bun despite protestations of hatred for bobby pins and hairspray.

We will be sprinting to the finish for the next two days running, and I will be doing it on a very low tank of gas.  A momma's work is never done.

(Gorgeous photo by Peter Megyeri.  Lovely shot of a very difficult subject!)