every year i seem to go through similar stages. it's strange to me that they repeat in such mirror images of the year before. clearly i need to work through these stages before i end up staring in my own version of Groundhog Day.
and thus, i give you...
stage 1: the long, cold, pennsylvania winter that feels as though it will never end is responsible for the first stage. plagued by genes that make it impossible to be warm during the winter, i literally shiver for 4 months. i get sad. i get mad. then, just when i think it's may, and perhaps hope is on the horizon, i look at the calender and realize it's actually only february. the.longest.month.in.the.universe.
stage 1 makes me want to move to the equator. literally, to build a house upon the actual equatorial line.
stage 2: the glory of spring warmth brings insane project mode. i literally tear apart my house and redo everything i had to stare at all winter. spray paint fumes fill the house from my makeshift basement corner paint room, giant holes (previously hidden behind pictures frames) come to light, and i somehow find a way to refinish 10 more pieces of trash-to-treasure furniture to cram into our very tiny home. i explore new ways to attach items of interest to drywall, such as my new love for hot gluing bunting rather than rummaging around for a silly old nail. who needs those, anyway?
my poor walls...they get abused in ridiculous ways during stage 2.
i also decide it's high time we started a massive home repair project, though i have absolutely no construction knowledge. but i start it anyway, thus forcing my husband to finish it for me the correct way, usually involving a great amount of patience on his part.
almost always, i start a business during stage 2 because stage 2 deceives me into thinking i will never, ever, EVER run out of energy. this year, i started making jewelry. last year i started painting furniture to sell. the year before that i did craft shows. the year before that i started sewing purses and headbands.
last year, stage 2 made me get a dog (whom we adored but then stage 3 hit and, well, you'll see what happens in stage 3)
let me tell you, my husband
really dreads LOVES stage 2.
stage 3: brought on by stage 2, exhaustion enters and 4 out of 7 days a week, my husband comes home and we look as though we've been robbed. things of all shapes and sizes cover nearly every imaginable surface and once removed, another item literally manifests itself from nowhere. the kids wear only underwear on these days (lets face it, underwear days appear in all of the stages), the dinner menu is more like a lunch or breakfast item with a side of canned fruit or a random leftover baked potato, and i may or may not have showered in the foreseeable past.
my brain seems unable to focus on the smallest tasks during stage 3 and i convince myself bi-weekly that i must either be pregnant, have lymes or have contracted mono because there's just no way a person can feel this amount of exhaustion from pesky old stage 3.
stage 4: being that i'm currently stuck in stage 3, i haven't the gusto to forge forth into stage 4. it involves a month long cleanup and perfect organization of all things chaotic from stages 1 through 3. it's clearly the best stage.
come on stage 4, don't let me down this year.
