Awesome/Suck... Not to be confused with Face/Off.

Garage sales where you make BANK.

So, okay, the garage sale didn't so much suck - as I twiddled my fingers a la Mr. Burns and counted my Benjamins, er, Lincolns (dolla dolla bill, y'all), but the getting ready for the damned thing? Please find the following list of situations I'd rather find myself in rather than doing that again. Ever.

1. Have bamboo skewers inserted under my fingernails.
2. Be hung by my toenails (a threat commonly uttered by my Grandpa, and terrified me as a child. I now know better, but still, that would definitely suck.)
3. Poke myself in the eye with a fork.
4. Get tased, Bro!
5. Be forced to watch a marathon of Calliou episodes. (Or Super Why. Make it stop. Please.)
6. Learn that coffee is a figment of my imagination.
7. Have my ex-husband move in next door.

Have I made my point yet? Getting ready for this garage sale was like being served the world's largest shit sandwich and being forced to eat every bite before dessert. First of all, there were literally hundreds of pieces of itty bitty kid clothes and toys to arrange artfully (evidently just throwing shit in a bunch of boxes and letting people go through them isn't okay. Who knew.) and it was eleventybillion degrees with infinity plus one percent humidity. That, and every mosquito in the tri-county area was trying to get in my pants. (No lie. I have a ridiculous amount of skeeter bites on unexposed skin. Little fucking perverts.) I'm not sure exactly how they stuck onto my leg to even bite me, as I was unsure if I was sweating or someone sprayed me down with the garden hose. Oh, wait. I smelled like pickled skunk ass, so it definitely wasn't the hose.

Anyway, we decided to put things out the night before, since it wasn't supposed to rain, but as much dew that covered all of my stuff, it might as well have. Whatever. I wasn't going to do shit at 4 am but sleep, hopefully, so I wanted to get as much done the night prior as possible. It. Was. Miserable. And then I forgot to set my alarm clock. And then my mom left the money bag outside while we took a short nap. (None is missing, thank you citizens of my tiny town for being so fucking rad!) And I still have a shit ton of nauseatingly cute onesies and crap left, so there very well may be a part deux... especially since I made enough for a car payment and a half today. Can I get a wut wut? (Oh, it's not cool to do that anymore? Are you also insinuating I should stop doing the sprinkler and cabbage patch when I dance? Damn it. No, I don't know how to Dougie, in case you were wondering.)

And because no day is complete without something to say WTF about, I might have broken my finger. At a garage sale. Who manages to do that? Me. I swear, I'm the Napoleon Dynamite of Indiana Street.

In all seriousness:

I'm really struggling today.

I'm going through boxes of Shortpants' clothes, preparing for a massive garage sale. It is beyond time that this is done, but I've put it off for so long because I knew how emotional it would be. And I'm talking levels of emotion here.

Level number 1: My little guy is four. FOUR. Holy crap. FOUR. It's not hard for a second to remember him tiny, and squishy, and wiggly, and screamy, and AWAKE, but it's just a reminder that my boy is a big kid now, and I just don't like it one bit.

Level B: It takes me back to a life that no longer exists. When his dad and I were married. When I thought I was happy. When I thought I was doing all I could to be the best mom and wife I knew how to be, and it wasn't enough. When I couldn't see the forest for the trees. When I was working so hard to keep my head above water and make sure my kids were first and foremost, as they should be, and that wasn't enough.

Level III: I'm done having babies. As in, I can't have any more babies. After a hysterectomy this summer (more on that another day), this oven is closed for business. And it's a really good thing and really sucky all at the same time, and another another day, when my thoughts aren't jumbled by the massive traffic jam going on in my brain right now, I may attempt to decipher my thoughts and emotions surrounding that. I just don't have the energy today.

It also takes me to a time before the Autism diagnosis. When I was worrying about his development and his doctor wasn't concerned, and I knew something wasn't quite right, but we just kept on l-i-v-i-n, because as I mentioned above, keeping my head above water and fighting my anxiety and depression that follows me wherever I go in check was almost more than I could handle.

I know it's just stuff. I get that. But just like smells can spark a memory, so can his tiny little socks and badass shirts (that a certain someone told me I probably shouldn't send him to daycare in again...lol). I can't wipe out those memories, for unlike people who come and go in and out of our lives, memories stay.

I should mention that I am the happiest I have been in years. I am in a relationship with someone who has shown me what love truly is - what it means to love fully and to be loved fully in return. I have a son who is the light of my life, and I am so honored to be his mama.

Today just kind of sucks though.

That's all.