Happy Birthday to me

The streak continues. I cried on my birthday.

Several times actually. I can’t really say much more, as that wouldn’t be fair to Diesel. Suffice it to say it was an ugly, rough day, one that makes me never want to celebrate my birthday again.

On the plus side, Choo-choo and I enjoyed most of our shortened second attempt at vacation. (You can read about our first attempt here: A trip to remember (or maybe not))We ran around in the grass kicking his giant orange ball, we spent hours at the beach digging in the sand, and we had ice cream twice in one day.

Diesel did all this, too, but like I said, it was a rough birthday for me and a rough trip altogether. Things broke (again!), our son refused to sleep at all except when we were driving in the truck, and we were unable to do several activities we planned on, including visiting a museum on our relatively new map that apparently doesn’t exist. The very kind ladies at the visitors’ information center, having lived and worked in the area for over twenty years, told me they’d never even heard of it.

There was also the rain that fell for the last of our drive home and all through us unloading the camper stuff back into the house. Once Diesel had brought in the large laundry bag of dirty clothes, he discovered the washing machine was broken. (Of course it was.)

Eventually, as the night passed on, things started falling into place once more. The rain ended. The washing machine was fixed (well, unplugged and plugged back in) by my intelligent husband. Choo-choo went to bed without any screaming fits. And finally, Diesel and I had some much needed alone time.

Author: stepbackandbreathe33

I am a writer, mother, wife, and fighter in the battle against depression, anxiety, OCD, and PTSD.

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