Not to be discouraged by the "Pimple Factory" that has set up shop on my forehead, I decided to do some research. And by research, I mean I googled it.
"What in the hell does it mean when you start breaking out like crazy on your forehead?"
(No lie...that was what I entered in the search box.)
The majority of the articles that appeared in the search results said one thing: STRESS. Apparently, if you are experiencing an influx in forehead breakouts (oh joy), it's because you are experiencing an influx of stress in your life. (And also, it could be that your digestion sucks and you need to drink more water and less Diet Coke daily. Oh joy, again.)
So, am I stressed out?
You bet your hiney I am!
Camren is starting kindergarten in a new school and it is freaking me out. I've met the speech therapist and the special education teacher. We've reviewed the IEP and have discussed concerns and goals. I know his new teacher well. The bus drivers that will take him to and from school are lovely people. You would think--considering all these facts--I would be fine. I'm not!
Then there's Lilly. She's been attending third grade for the past week. She's been worried about school outfits, who to sit with at lunch, who to play with at recesses, whether or not she'll be able to learn her multiplication tables, riding the bus with her "stinky brother," making new friends in her class, and on and on and on... Her list of worries never seems to end. She is her mother's child.
Baby Bridget is slowly, methodically, and calculatingly trying to burn our house down. Or something. The little turkey spilled a BLUE printer ink cartridge all over my carpet. She painted her face with my pink lipstick. She emptied a garbage can all over the floor. (The kids is obsessed with garbage...and that is stressing me out, too. I don't want her to grow up to be a dumpster diver!) Bridget is so deliciously adorable I want to kiss her face off...BUT, she's naughty with a capital N.
And I can't forget to mention the fact that I'm growing caterpillars on my face; my eyebrows need to be waxed that badly. I need a pedicure like nobody's business. My toilets are filthy, my laundry is piling up. My family is living off of chicken nuggets because I haven't cooked a decent meal in a week. And the icing on my cupcake? I have Seabather's Eruption.
Apparently, when you go to the Caribbean in August, and frolic in the ocean with your husband, you make yourself susceptible to the evils of jellyfish larvae. They are the smallest of devils--only the size of a grain of pepper--and they will sting you. But because they are so small, you hardly feel it. So you continue to jump in waves and smooch your hubby in the water, oblivious to the fact that your legs are turning into ground beef.
People, I have a bumpy, itchy, patchy rash on my calves, my ankles, and behind my knees! It is ugly. It is making me crazy. It's the stupidest dang thing to have happen. Who on earth gets Seabather's Eruption?? Oh...that's right...ME. I do, I get it.
See? Stressed. Out.
The dumb articles I read online were NOT helpful. Read a book, they said. That's not going to help me. The Chamber of Secrets is open and poor Harry Potter is trying to figure out why students are being "petrified" all over Hogwarts. That ain't relaxing reading, folks. It stresses me out.
Try meditation, they said. To which I say, try meditating with two small children at home! As soon as I get into the lotus position, Bridget sees that as an opportunity to climb on my head. There is NO WAY I can go to a zen place with her butt in my face. It stresses me out.
Breathe deeply, they said. What on earth does that even mean?!?! I live in a state of continual hyperventilation! It stresses me out.
With all the madness and anxiety that is swirling around me lately, I've been doing the only things I really can do: Paint my nails. Watch "Friends" reruns. Eat mass amounts of peanut butter M&Ms. Ride my cherry-red beach cruiser. Shop at Charming Charlie. (Where I got this yummy feather necklace that would make Pocahontas jealous!) Write in my journal. Apply benzoyl peroxide to my poor little forehead. And pray. Pray, pray, pray, pray.
Tell me, PLEASE, what do you do to de-stress? To relax? Leave a comment and give me your best tips. Which I will read later.
I have to go rock in a corner.