Sorry, no time for pictures - but, if you've been following me on Facebook, you know that we're about to embark from Kansas to New York. By car. In my Prius. How long of a drive is it, you ask? Twenty hours.
I've been trying to pack all day. This morning, Olivia was demanding, crying, whining and trashing the house as I tried to do laundry and pack. Eventually, I begged her and her sister off on a neighbor for an hour. I was able to shove food in my mouth, run to the post office and throw in another load of laundry.
The girls are fast asleep, finally, but the house is still trashed. I hate to leave the house a mess. Returning to a messy house after a 2o-hour road trip, with two children under the age of five, is a recipe for, oh, I don't know, just bad stuff all-around.
My head is about to explode and it's not just from thinking about a long car ride. I think we're getting some sort of small storm here and the barometric pressure change has my ears filled with so much pressure, I feel as if I've been in a plane, on descent, all day long (actually, since yesterday or the day before) and it's now given me a headache and I'm so tired, I just want to give up on packing and have someone do it for me (Matt's at his grad school class).
I hate meniere's disease! Hate it! As Kristin Chenoweth (Meniere's suffer, the original Glinda in Wicked, Emmy award winner for her Pushing Daisies roll, recent guest star on Glee) says, "...it sucks a big fat corn cob." She inspires me - because through it all, she finds a way to shine and laugh (which, I just don't feel like doing right now), even when Meniere's steps in right after she accepts her Emmy and puts more than a little bit of a damper on her moment (also paramedics must be called because she is flat out with a meniere's migraine).
Anyway, more on that later, for sure. I've got a lot to say about it. But, for now, I must go finish packing, what Matt calls, the "explosion bags." As soon as we reach our destination, the bags are rummaged through and, inevitably, explode all over the floor and reduce my husband to tears of frustration.