Be careful what you wish for.
That’s what “they” say, right?
Whatever. I always scoffed at that statement. Like HELLO, we get it, life happens… but I am a grown-ass woman, and I know what I want, damnit. Right?
Someone recently pointed out that my Instagram account has been (relatively) quiet of late….
TBH all of Keri’s social media has been uber slow compared to my usual constant stream of overshare.
Here’s the thing – how many pics of “my Bae Caesar” (salad) can one person possibly Insta? At what point do even the most loyal of the Snap fam heavy sigh at yet ANOTHER salute to a Friday night charcuterie board with some (I think) clever caption about how fast I will be asleep on the floor in front of Twin Peaks after eating it? When does watching Dr Sissy and me exchange Mary Kate and Ashley GIFs on Twitter AGAIN drive a kind-hearted but still over it follower to mute because JUST ENOUGH ALREADY @todds_wife!?
What. A. Rut.
Long story short (too late) it was straight up Groundhog Day in Keri-land, yo. And one more Snap featuring Jr’s rainforest animals soother glowing on the ceiling while his favorite obscure Paul Simon song plays in the soothing half-light just suddenly felt like I was highlighting the horrifically mundane.
Can a girl get some variety in life, or what, universe!?
Here comes that “careful what you wish for” shit.
Labor Day weekend rolled around…. It was typical – there was pool time and BBQing and showing our fave brewery some consumer love and all of that….
And then Jr started to cough. By Monday evening when I put him into bed (and he coughed himself to sleep to “Rene and Georgette Magritte With Their Dog After the War,” natch,) I was ready for a shower and some sleep….
But when I emerged, wet haired and jammie-clad, down the stairs, I found The Mr folded up at a weird angle on the sofa, grimacing.
He’d stepped wrong off the bottom step in the garage and the top of his foot hurt. I grabbed a heating pad, chalked it up to our aging ligaments, and figured it would be fine by the morning,
12 hours later I had a son with a nasty viral lung funk and a husband with a foot that was broken in two places. I also had a slew of in-person meetings at the office with a visiting- from-out-of-town coworker, and no grandparents in town to help out with poor sicky Jr for at least the first day or two…
Groundhog day was over, y’all.
Careful. What. You. Wish. For.
The next week was a surreal blur of doctor’s appointments, barf buckets, conference calls, air-casts, dog walking, temperature-taking, co-worker bonding, frustrated-husband comforting, rushing back-and-forth CRAZIENESS.
And as the days passed, and I marched on through the chaos, it dawned on me – you asked for different, Keri. You poked the universal bear.
Jr returned to school and all of his activities after a week of down time; twice a day I run Potter around the path by the reservoir so he can do his doggie business; I haul ass to the office every morning later than I’d like, hoping to NOT get the shittiest parking spot in the lot….
Things certainly did get a shake up , I guess.
You’re welcome, Snap Fam, for the eleventy billion additions to my story of me walking the dog and comparing The Mr’s air cast to an 80s ski boot.
Turns out variety doesn’t = exciting content after all. BUT, no more over-curating from Keri. After all, what breaks up the day better than a good social media over-share?