Stir Crazy

So house arrest...er, I mean, bed rest...is going well. When I've had good behavior, I get visits from my kids. Visits from sticky fingers and dirty feet and big smiles. I miss those sticky faces.

What does stir crazy mean? Stir what? Let me know if you know 'cause I don't.


When I was a little girl, the worst thing you could do to me by way of punishment was send me to my room. I hated the solitary confinement. Now I will be the first to admit that I have often wondered, since my offspring entered my life, if I would EVER be alone again. I craved just a trip to the bathroom alone. And alone is here. It has arrived. And apparently I still have more of that little girl in me then I realized. I'm considering doing what I did then. I think I might lie down on the floor next to the door and kick and scream, "let me out!" Wait, is kicking okay when you're on bed rest?


Yes, gone are the days when there is a little hand banging on my shower door or waking up to a little face saying, "Mommy, I'm hungry." Gone.


Okay, don't be so melodramatic, overly emotional pregnant lady. Those days aren't gone, gone. They are just on hold. I'm sure a week after this ends, I'll be begging for more alone time again. But right now, I miss my little boys.


To everything, there is a season. To know the good, you must taste the bad, right? This, too, shall pass. Endure to the end. This could be worse. Any other cliches you can think of to make me want to....gouge my eyes out?


No? Okay, good. Then you are welcome to call for a chat or come by with a diet coke. No attempt-to-cheer-me-up cliches, though. I'm fine, really. Let's talk about YOU. I'm happy to hear what's going on outside. Is it hot out there? It looks like it.


Does stir crazy mean that I've gone so crazy that my thoughts don't even come out coherently anymore? Just all mixed up. Stir fry. Little here, little there. Throw in some zucchini 'cause I still have lots of that. Okay. Just wonderin'.