stunningly quiet

This week has been a big load of crap. I thought that I had allergies, but when the allergy medicine did absolutely nothing I realized I had a head cold. Of course. I have no immune system. John has been working twelve hour days most days this week, and I feel like all I do is make the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and drive the carpool. It is like Groundhog Day, over and over again.

So here we are on Saturday morning, and John has taken the children to town--to the farmer's market, the grocery store, and out to lunch. I'm going to clean the house, but at least it is quiet.

...

I suppose I'll continue with this disgruntled housewife post while I rest before I start my next project. I think I'm feeling slow and pregnant. I don't usually use the hormonal excuse, but I think that has to be part of it. Early in the week John was wondering when I planned on going back to work. Honestly, I find that humorous and sad at the moment. I'm eight months pregnant, have a two year old and a six year old, and honestly I can't think of a way to make a blessed cent at the moment. That question threw me into a funk that was later magnified by a visit to a new house with a friend of mine who was house shopping. The house was pretty ugly, a Brady Bunch tri-level thing that offends all my basic sensibilties, but the inside was completely redone, beautiful furniture, glowing hardwood floors, and the piece de resistance, the stainless steel appliances in the kitchen. Of course they all matched. The kitchen also had a tile floor and nice countertops. So, for days I've been on the verge of crying over a stranger's stupid expensive refridgerator.