Surround me with my Art . . . and my iPad.
"When I die," I told Phil this evening, as I sat on couch taking deep long breaths of air in and out, "make sure you surround me with my art, and the iPad. You have to bury me with the iPad."
"You know you're not dying," PG said, holding my hand.
"I know, but if I am, make sure you do that. I need the iPad with me, ok? I feel like I'm short of breath. I can't get enough air in right now," I told him.
"Stop talking and breath," he said.
"Just don't forget the iPad," I reminded him.
"Maybe we can just send you with one of those cardboard iPads like the cardboard TV's from the furniture store," he said. He's so supportive, my PG.
"You know, those kids aren't cleaning up their rooms up there, like I have asked them 100 times. You know, you can hear them singing and dancing and laughing . . . they aren't cleaning up their rooms," I said. "I swear, I'm going to lose it!" I tell him.
I think I had a mini-anxiety freak out thing this evening.
I felt overwhelmed . . . like every bit of my house was visited by an indoor tornado that took it's time and blew up each room. I felt unappreciated . . . like I am just supposed to clean up a thousand little pieces of Pokemon cards and American Girl doll clothing parts and pony holders and gomu erasers, because what else should I be doing. I felt ignored . . . like no one hears me say anything in these walls - not 'hello', not 'good-bye', not 'please help me'. I felt medicine-heady . . . like this cold I have been fighting for two days has finally taken hold of my brain and everything was happening around me. I felt exhausted . . . like I could have just closed my eyes and fallen asleep right then and there.
And I couldn't get the air in.
So, off he went. PG to the rescue. To advise. To direct. To encourage. To discipline. To pick up where I could not.
And there I sat, for 10 minutes. Listening to the laughter of two little girls. To their singing along with their daddy, as he helped them clean. To the water filling up the bath tub. To their shreks of joy at something silly daddy did.
For 10 minutes, I closed my eyes and layed my head back on the couch.
I took deep breaths. In. And. Out.
And thanked God for this life.
For each and every second of it.
Sorry I missed our Magnificent Monday Vlog, friends. As you can see, I've been feeling a little "off" the past few days. I'll be back next week, for sure, with a new Vlog. But I'll surely be back sooner with another post.
Writing always helps me breath better.
Hugs.
"You know you're not dying," PG said, holding my hand.
"I know, but if I am, make sure you do that. I need the iPad with me, ok? I feel like I'm short of breath. I can't get enough air in right now," I told him.
"Stop talking and breath," he said.
"Just don't forget the iPad," I reminded him.
"Maybe we can just send you with one of those cardboard iPads like the cardboard TV's from the furniture store," he said. He's so supportive, my PG.
"You know, those kids aren't cleaning up their rooms up there, like I have asked them 100 times. You know, you can hear them singing and dancing and laughing . . . they aren't cleaning up their rooms," I said. "I swear, I'm going to lose it!" I tell him.
I think I had a mini-anxiety freak out thing this evening.
I felt overwhelmed . . . like every bit of my house was visited by an indoor tornado that took it's time and blew up each room. I felt unappreciated . . . like I am just supposed to clean up a thousand little pieces of Pokemon cards and American Girl doll clothing parts and pony holders and gomu erasers, because what else should I be doing. I felt ignored . . . like no one hears me say anything in these walls - not 'hello', not 'good-bye', not 'please help me'. I felt medicine-heady . . . like this cold I have been fighting for two days has finally taken hold of my brain and everything was happening around me. I felt exhausted . . . like I could have just closed my eyes and fallen asleep right then and there.
And I couldn't get the air in.
So, off he went. PG to the rescue. To advise. To direct. To encourage. To discipline. To pick up where I could not.
And there I sat, for 10 minutes. Listening to the laughter of two little girls. To their singing along with their daddy, as he helped them clean. To the water filling up the bath tub. To their shreks of joy at something silly daddy did.
For 10 minutes, I closed my eyes and layed my head back on the couch.
I took deep breaths. In. And. Out.
And thanked God for this life.
For each and every second of it.
Sorry I missed our Magnificent Monday Vlog, friends. As you can see, I've been feeling a little "off" the past few days. I'll be back next week, for sure, with a new Vlog. But I'll surely be back sooner with another post.
Writing always helps me breath better.
Hugs.
Chicken soup, peppermint tea, rest, and PEACE ... these I wish you ....
ReplyDeleteOh Leanne!! I really hope you start feeling better soon!! I really understand what it is like to feel all of those things. Hang in there sister!! :)
ReplyDeletethose moments comes sometimes and make us feel low and stressed. just try to relax for a bit, go out for a walk and after a while all will seem to u differently. Get better!
ReplyDeleteYeah, I've got that tornado thing going here, too. But with no little ones to blame.
ReplyDeleteHope you feel better soon. That PG is such a good guy. And a good dad!!
fell better soon:O) Thanks for stopping by:O) I used Moo.com for my blank cards:O)
ReplyDeleteYou have a pretty awesome husband!!
ReplyDeleteLeanne, you are wonderful...you are creative and loving and kind and the best Mommy and just overall AMAZING!!!!!
Leslie
Ah, yes. The stress panic attack... very familiar. Breathe, my friend.
ReplyDeleteSending you love, peace and encouragement at the soul level. I still remember the moment you posted your picture on HSHB and I was struck by your warmth, nurturing spirit, and soft power. So glad you have a supportive partner. So sweet, singing with the children as they cleaned up. Bless him.
ReplyDelete