Stress

You know you're stressed when:  You put your underwear on inside out and backwards and don't realize it until the evening when you finally go to the bathroom without being accompanied by two littles under your feet.  (Does anyone else no longer know the meaning of the word privacy?)

You know you're stressed when: When asked, you can't remember your anniversary date or how to spell your darling second child's middle name.  Seriously, I had to pull out the important documents file to check.

You know you're stressed when: It takes you an entire weekend without your purse, which has all ID, money, credit cards, gift cards, anything important in the world, to remember what the heck you did the day you lost it.  Honestly, last Thursday was gone for four days. 

You know you're stressed when: You let your son fall asleep on the floor rather than clean off the bed that currently rivaling Everest in altitude.

The good news is, I got my underwear sorted out, I remembered my anniversary after just a little thinking, and looked up Silas's middle name: it is spelled Jeremiah, I found my purse, and Eli is asleep.  And, I made yogurt tonight. I love yogurt. Half full, that's right, half full