I have had a serious lack of energy lately. Yesterday was a pretty bad day. The morning was fine- we made an incident-free trip to Costco- but as soon as we got home I just crashed. I tried to doze while Zibbit was napping, but that just made me feel groggy and sluggish for the rest of the day.

I feel so guilty, because I know the kids need me to have the energy to do things with them. They need to get out, go on walks, play at the park, see friends… But I am just so tired all the time. I barely have what it takes to keep them fed and clothed. Anything extra these days just isn’t happening. I don’t know what to do about this.

If you are a mommy blogger or you know of a mommy blogger or you ever think about mommy bloggers, you must go and read this incredible post by Misha from The Wallpaper of My Mind.

I know that you think that my extended absence of six days meant that I had left you for a younger internet with bigger boobs and fake nails, but it is not so! I will never turn you in for a younger internet, internet! I have been busy! I have been painting! I was tired of all the white white white walls. By an amazing stroke of genius (read: you don’t have to get me an anniversary present, honey!) I was able to convince my paint-hating, white wall-loving husband to tackle this project with me. And now we are sort-of done and I feel like telling you all about it.

Behold! The “before” kitchen:

White! Everything blindingly white!

And now the after photo, the beautiful, beautiful after:

We also painted the adjoining family room:

Please excuse the lack of furniture. We don’t actually have any for this room. Even though we’ve lived here for 2 1/2 years. It’s kind of hard to see how awesome these colors actually are in those photos, so here’s another one of where they meet in the kitchen:

Is it not beautiful? I am in love. And perhaps a tad woozy from the fumes.

My husband and I are usually on the same page when it comes to parenting. We pretty much agree about everything- discipline, hygiene, schedules- all the big stuff. But there are times when I just know deep down inside that I am right I am so very right I am so right you should be able to see the glowing aura of rightness surrounding my body… and he just doesn’t get it.

Like tonight, for example.

Zibbit didn’t take a nap today, so when Ammon came home from work I had him put her to bed early. She was so exhausted that she fell asleep right away, and I didn’t go in there until right before I headed off to bed. I always go in and kiss the girls goodnight, making sure they’re all tucked in and comfy. When I went in to check on Zibbit, she was curled into a ball on her pillow, having kicked off the blankets. This afforded me a clear look at her attire. She wasn’t in pajamas. She was in the clothes she had worn all day. The clothes that had gotten soaked up to the knees from splashing in a puddle outside before bed. Thankfully, Ammon had the bright idea to roll up her pants so that she wouldn’t feel the wetness. Not only that! But he had to undress her to change her diaper. People! With a closet a mere arms length away full of clean, dry clothes, he put those clothes BACK ON HER!

When I came into our room to ask him what the heck he was thinking, he sputtered and stuttered and just could not see what the problem was. Why? He asked me. Why, when the pants were rolled up so nicely, was putting her to bed in wet pants that bad? I asked him if he would like to sleep in wet pants. He said it wouldn’t really bother him.

So I did the only logical thing a woman in my situation could do.

I picked up the water bottle from the bedside table.

And I squirted water on the crotch of his pants.

And then he got all mad at me, like I had done something terrible. What, honey? Was that wet feeling uncomfortable for you? Huh? < insert wicked cackle here >

Am I wrong here? Am I missing some important, character building lesson you get from sleeping in wet pants? Is it too much to ask to clothe the children in clean, dry pajamas before they go to bed? Am I just CRAZY?

We took a little detour from the beach last week to visit one of the state’s historic army batteries, a fort built in the early 1900’s to protect the Puget Sound from attack. It is a massive concrete structure, built into the side of a bluff overlooking the water. Perched on top are the original “disappearing guns”, giant cannons that are hidden from view behind a camouflaged cement wall. Ground level is a network of silent, windowless rooms that used to house the control rooms and artillery. They connect to each other through a series of narrow walkways and stairwells, each room just as cold and empty as the last. On the walls, generations of vandals have scratched initials and cryptic messages.

Normally, I am a lover of all things with a past. Antique books in particular fascinate me. I love to imagine whose fingers have turned the pages before mine. Old homes, too, always seem to echo with the voices of past inhabitants. I love feeling connected to a history long past, imagining myself as the link between long ago and tomorrow.

But here, deep inside the walls of a century-old monument, I felt nothing. No connection. Just emptiness. Everything was cold and dark, sending shivers down my spine despite the warm summer breeze that tousled my hair. I was surprised to notice that I wasn’t frightened of these barren, claustrophobic spaces. I expected myself to hesitate at each doorway, reluctant to step into the blackness. I think it was that lack of feeling, almost a detachment, that allowed me to explore the fort unafraid.

I took this photo in one of the last rooms we walked through. The only way in or out was the concrete steps that led you either down into the pitch-black, empty pit, or up into the sunlight. Walking up those steps, leaving the darkness behind me, felt so good. When I wrote that “issues” post a little while ago, I experienced the same feeling. I was leaving behind me the black, oppressive walls of shame, and choosing to walk into the light of forgiveness. I forgave myself for the pain in my past, and for hiding that past inside me with my fear and my disgrace. I haven’t told my whole story yet, but the part I wrote about in that post is finally free and I am unashamed. I am leaving that dark room behind me, and I am not looking back.

This month’s SPC theme is enclosed spaces. See more self portraits here.