This is definitely going to be more like a diary entry than anything. Do you ever get so frustrated about things, then have a total guilt trip, because deep down you know you really have no room to complain? I'm having more of those lately, and I'm not too pleased when I get this way.
Sometimes I get really down about money. I think about all the things we need to do, all the things we want to do, then how much these things cost, and then my brain explodes because I can't reconcile the balance. Big projects cost big money. I'd really like to add a screened porch to the back of my house; my husband wants to fix the fence; I'd be happy with paint and a new bed and bedding; he would like to get rid of our big gas guzzling car, but would be happy to just have the repairs done to both. I try not to get bogged down in the "big" cost picture, because sometimes it's so unattainable, why would I even waste the wish. But as I sat and folded ratty washcloths and noticed that there are even more pairs of little boy's socks with holes in the heels as big as golfballs, I got more and more depressed. Not that I can't buy socks or washcloths, but that those little things put our big goals further and further away. This doesn't even touch college or retirement--leave those be for now, my husband and I simply disagree on how that should even be handled.
Later in the day, as I watched "Emma" for the 100th time while folding clothes (not the Gwyneth Paltrow one, which is lovely, but the REAL one, the BBC produced), I was struck by the relationship of father and daughter, how Emma's father looked at his daughter and worried about her future, and how she comforted him with her "it'll be alright." I felt a sudden flashback to my wedding, followed by a flash forward to now: I'm frequently telling my dad "it'll be alright." And I really believe it. However, I am so frustrated now (going a different direction, so keep up with me, please) because here I watched Emma and her new husband go on their honeymoon, and it made me think about how next week is my 15-year anniversary, and we have absolutely no plans because 1)we really can't afford to go away for a long time or to anywhere truly fabulous, and really we can't even entertain the notion, because 2) we have nowhere to go with our children. We had an overnight alone in the spring, but it set us back $150 for the sitter. Prior to that, our last time away together was to the UK, 9 years ago, when my brother flew us over and put us up for a week--thanks again, Bob! I lovingly jest with my husband that we will someday have our time (remember, "it'll be alright"), but the fact is, I have no idea when, short of waiting until my sons are old enough to take care of themselves, but then we won't want to go, because by then they'd trash the house. It's starting to wear on me, especially when things are delicate in our relationship right now, and I sense it, he senses it, and we have no direction with it.
So I know all things are relative to those who experience it. In the big scheme of things, we have health, food on the table, a comfortable, yet well-worn home, and I live contentedly without fear. This is my brain messing with me. This is my frustration. Ah--I'll go have a glass of wine tonight, and it'll be alright tomorrow.

Oh poop.

One of the hazards of playing with the dog after dark is the kids yelling, "Oh no! I've got poop on me!" And, sure enough, he does. In fact, they all do. Dog doo up their arms from playing with the ball and the ball happened to roll through the "stuff" which then got on their arms. The dog, meanwhile, is skipping about the yard, very happy and having a great time. The boys were stripped down in the backyard (what with there being poop on their clothes, too), and sent to the showers. Makes for an exciting Friday evening.