Oh, boy. It’s getting a little ugly ’round here these days.

Before I launch into a bit of a pity party, I’d like to make a disclaimer. That is, I’m aware of the following:

• We’ve brought this upon ourselves
• These are definitely first-world problems
• I can be a bit of a whiney-pants sometimes
• And let’s throw in a dash of PMS, for added fun!

I feel it doesn’t serve me to gloss over or flat-out ignore the tough parts of this transition. It’s not all rainbows and unicorns. Shocking, but true. So brace yourself for a raw, transparent post. (If that ain’t your bag today, I totally get it. I’ll catch you next time.)

“The uglies” are what I’m labeling the emotions and (over)reactions I’m having to pretty much everything right now. The uglies are coming out because we’re overtired, overwhelmed, and overstretched. Kevin and I have been snipping at each other. Neither of us are thinking very clearly. Both of us feel brain-scrambled and swamped with various commitments. All of this makes me crabby. When I get crabby, I get impatient and intolerant, especially with the kids. And that can get pretty darn ugly. Just ask the boys.

The last couple of weeks, I’ve been in full resistance/uglies mode. When I look at my daily to-dos, the voice in my head sounds a little bit like this: “But I don’t WANNAAAA!!!” OK, it sounds exactly like that. Doesn’t everyone have that voice? No? Just me?

But the things must get done. So I do them. But I do them like a bratty three-year-old with her arms folded, sporting a full-on pouty face that could be kind of cute if it weren’t for the dagger eyes. Getting all of the necessary tasks accomplished while also trying to work and wrap up the end of the school year is like playing a game of Whack-a-Mole. One thing gets crossed off, three more pop up. And that just pisses me off. So I angrily start whacking away at the tasks. And more keep popping up. I swear they’re sticking their tongues out at me. Cheeky buggers!

Resistance is sneaky and strong, though, and it also pops up just like those damn Whack-a-mole tasks.

Procrastination? Why, that’s my middle name, don’t you know! I have a deadline? Oh, look! The dog is blowing out her winter coat. I Must Brush Her RIGHT NOW.

A potential tenant is coming to look at our apartment? Lordy. There went three hours of cleaning and “illusion of clean” tidying. Oops! Another day of not working.

Overreaction and exaggeration?
Me: “What is wrong with people? Why can’t they READ?” (Truly, though, people don’t actually read these days. They skim. Poorly. Just try posting items for sale on a Facebook group page and see how many times different people ask “how much?” when the price is clearly listed.)

Also me: “What do you mean, you haven’t brushed your teeth yet? I told you to do it at least 30,000 times!! And it’s 10 minutes past your bedtime. Why is NO-ONE listening to me??!!!” Yup. Ugg-lee.

Self-care? Umm…more like the opposite: not enough sleep, not sleeping well during the few hours I am horizontal, making poor food choices—half a bag of chips for lunch, anyone? (the voice pipes up: “but they’re baked, not fried!”), eating vast quantities of similarly crappy food (stress eating is my current go-to crutch), drinking too many nights of the week, wanting to stay up late to watch a TV show because I EARNED THAT RELAXATION time, dammit. And the downward spiral continues…

I do know better, about the self-care especially. I’m a life coach, for goodness sake! But I’m also human. Fortunately, I can use my coaching tools on myself. I know that shaming myself over these choices is not only pointless, but will work against me in the long run. So what if I’ve gained 18 pounds in 10 minutes? I’ll lose it again in Thailand. (Remember, I’ll simply sweat it off!) If food is a temporary comfort, I can be OK with that. Not forever, but just for now, during this window of having way too much to do and feeling as if there’s not enough time to do it.

Acknowledging the resistance, allowing room for it, and seeing it for what it is actually takes away some of its power. And that leads to better choices.(Sometimes. This is a process after all…) Sometimes, I’ll take a nap in the middle of the day. Sometimes, I’ll make myself a beautiful healthy salad for lunch that would be the envy of any fancy restaurant. Sometimes, I take an extra long walk with the dog because it’s so beautiful outside. Sometimes, I’ll listen to a podcast and color for a few minutes instead of whacking the moles. Every “better” choice I make is a step back up the spiral.

It isn’t all ugly, either. Several very good things have happened over the past few weeks.

We’ve signed the lease for the rental house in Bangkok and paid the deposit. Whoo-hoo!

We’ve sold more stuff AND it’s left the apartment!

We’ve had wonderful, memorable visits with several great friends. With tasty food! And beer!

Both boys have successfully wrapped up some big projects at school. (Phew!) Here’s Tobin holding a pose as Patrick Henry during the 2nd grade Living Wax Museum:

Duncan had his braces taken off and got to eat jelly beans again after a whole year. YAY!

Kevin had an incredibly moving send-off from his fellow teachers at the school’s annual Trustees’ Dinner; there literally wasn’t a dry eye in the house. (On a side note, my heart literally ached, it was so full of love and pride for him as I listened to other people recognizing his incredible character and talent and qualities. I still well up just thinking about that evening.)

We leave 6 weeks from today. That’s a mere 42 days. While it gives me the sweats to type that (as I suddenly recall the other 25 items on my to-do list today that I put off to write this instead), I know we’ll be OK. I also know we’ll be going back down—and up—that spiral during the next 6 weeks, from the really uglies to tippety-top, giddy joys and everywhere in between. That’s just how it goes as we’re gettin’ it done.

As a dear friend and coach of mine says, we’re “winning ugly.”

Now, please excuse me. I’m off to boil 30 eggs. One of tonight’s tasks will be helping Duncan peel those eggs so we he can make, deep fry, and then bake 30 Scotch eggs for the 4th grade Heritage Festival tomorrow morning. What could go wrong?

PS. Do me a favor. When you see me, don’t mention my extra 18 pounds.

Or it could get ugly…