Crumpled in a relieved heap of thankfullness.

You know those days that go to hell in a hand basket but even then someone forgot to give you the hand basket and your arse just gets burned? I've been having those way too often.
I have been a weeping mess of cryingness. An emotional heap in a physical heap of crapola. How is it that we have been packing, packing and dumping and donating and STILL we are drowning in stuff, dear life where is it all coming from? Is it breeding? Self multiplying? WHAT?
Everything has been piling on top of me ( except the very things that might be quite nice piled on top of me, which shall remain nameless because I have delusions of being a lady )
The whole teenager/ emotional/ sucking the very life deal added to the little people /body breaking/ oh please let me have a nap and can someone shut that bloody noise OFF for an hour or 12 thing has left me fit for nought.
Today we had a turn around that in itself is miraculous but merely the beginning. I think my girl has a glimmer of hope for her future. It didn't come easily but it is there and damn I am going to fan that flicker of hope and get it burning if it's the last thing I do..... and for heavens sake why can I smell FEET?
I hate bad smells, people in this house do not smell, things do not smell and get away with it.....I can smell FEET and the worst of it is I am the only one in here...must find source of stink.
Found it. I am clean, feet do not smell......house however is NOT tidy today ( or any day lately, can't do it all and packing and feeding people must come first) so, while I was out with the girl today beginning the lighting of flicker of hope....the gits got hold of 3 canisters of wholesome seed like things that in a fit of shall be healthy I bought......when I came home they had spread said THREE canisters of hemp seeds and such all over front room.....lets not go into where H was ( in same room) or what he was doing ( laptop) I made them clear it up and did not help, smell of FEET is actually the pile of seeds not swept up, some kind of flavouring or something but am pretty sure, given the smell, that it is no longer healthy, shall not be eating any, especially after it has been on this floor.
Anyway, Sophie has a 'glimmer' which is enormous ...I think I helped her believe just a tiny bit that I love her ( why is that so bloody hard to do?) Please let me help her. I want nothing more than to see this child of mine happy. Her myspace page screams of misery, it is dark and hideous, filled with anger and it breaks my heart.
I would rather like some cake. Of course we have none and I am being nice to myself anyway, cake might cheer me for 20 seconds but then something in it makes me cross and bloated, I don't need anything that makes me more grumpy and I very much enjoy my jeans being baggy and slidey downy. I do indeed.
So my crumpled with relief self will go to bed and listen to my husband breathe. Better than cake any day. Probably. Unless it is really good cake, with lemon icing.

There now, that didn't hurt a bit, did it?

I am not girlie, not a bit. In fact I just pretty much hate anything about that titivating, fru fru, frilly making stuff. Poke me in the eye with a blunt needle rather than make me sit and go through all that fluffing about. Please. Life to live and all that.
I enjoy a massage, just don't be frilly about it, if you mean it, put your back into it and release those tense muscles!
Dye my hair, yawn......takes too long but I do it ( myself because have you SEEN what they charge at the hairdressers and those grey hairs are going to fight through just as fast anyway) because I'll be darned if I am ready to have people call me granny to those little boys I done birthed myself. Also, grey hair, just looks so tough doesn't it? So, shiny dyed hair because I am worth it . Plucking, also, fact of life, not ready for uni brows ( never will be) or chin hairs or a moustache, has to be done, every day unfortunately.
Shaving legs and pits, oh please, do it but not happily and not often enough.
Nails. I used to have particularly gorgeous hands, in fact at one time ( 18) a photographer asked to take pictures of them because they were very lovely. Not so much anymore, the nails still pretty much grow long and strong, neglected as they are, if they break? Ptttth who cares? They have to go through such a battering every day, cleaning and getting washed and scrubbing and getting bent back all day long while I am lifting and such.
My feet. Flintstones feet H says, poor feet, they are tired and all battered and rough. I have the weirdest toenails, they curl and are so tiny it is ridiculous on such a big body, teeny little baby nails on fat old flintstone feet. Shame. They are so ticklish I just about pee if anyone touches my feet , they do love reflexology because that is firm and not tickly. I have never understood that whole pedicure deal. I do like the idea of pretty feet but in my life? Where is the time and the money?
So, this evening Sophie ( she of beauty school) said " d'you want a manicure and a pedicure?" well, look see, I was showered, in my PJ's watching American Idol ( I love Takesha, hope she wins) why not? I asked. So I did. Sat here like the queen of all she surveys and let my daughter do her thing and for heavens sake....it was rather pleasant. I have rather pretty feet, with no rough cuticley things, and red nail polish ( lawks!) and my finger nails are all french polished and filed. The days of my hands being the object of adoration or envy are gone, they are old lady hands now, big old butchers hands ( I think) and not worthy of a photographers attention. Tonight though, they are nice enough that I shan't be scrubbing a toilet or cleaning the stove ( cool , not that I had any intention or anything but always great to have a bonafide excuse)
I can't see myself budgeting for such frivolities in the near future but look, I gave the child life, the very least she can do is give me a manicure / pedicure in the comfort of my own home wouldn't you say?
It's mothers' day here on Sunday ....just as she finished my treatment Sophie said " hey, this is your mothers' day present." I'll take that, beats everything I got last year, ungrateful brood. Actually the little boys have been so sweet, they keep showing me what they made at school and then hiding it again. Seth's card is the most touching thing, can hardly wait to show you.
So, I learned that to be a bit girlie once in a while, doesn't hurt. My feet are happy to have been noticed after all they do for me. My hands are happy that I remembered they used to be lovely and pretended they still are for a moment. My daughter is happy that I let her at me and showed that I care enough to do that even though the idea of this stuff really puts me in a bad mood usually.
Happy me.