The "B" in Busy

This is me right now. In squirrel form.

We're moving. And I couldn't be more excited about that fact. Moving means I will no longer have to drive my daughter an hour each way to school. Moving means my best friend's house will be about eight minutes away. Moving means I get to decorate a whole new place. And go to Costco and stock up on a bunch of stuff for my pantry. I have never had this much cabinet space in my life! So by all rights, I should be in a pretty decent mood right?

But I'm not.

I'm irritable. I'm incredibly short with my kids, the dog, cashiers, strangers... In short, cover your virgin ears (or eyes?): I'm a real bitch right now.

And I'm overwhelmed by the simplest of tasks. The thought of having to forward my mail feels like someone expecting me to rebuild a car engine. Nearly every time I start to pack a box, my three year old runs into the room and promptly begins unpacking it. And this might sound like a cute little anecdote, but it literally makes me sit down on the floor and well up with tears, as if my three year old and I are in fact, the same age. 

See, my husband, like me, is also busy. His restaurant (shameless plug) is doing really well, which means he's working a lot. And being married to a chef, that comes with the territory. I know that. I've always known that. And he is helping as much as he can with the move. But I still feel so helpless. Like a helpless little child who can barely tie her own shoes. Which is so not me. And that's making me irritable. And short with the kids, the dog, cashiers, strangers....

And to add a little fun to the mix, I've started eating my feelings. I stole that term from the movie Mean Girls, but it's absolutely true. For months now, I've been on track, eating well and feeling good. Then the whole moving thing started, and this happened:

Yup, it's another squirrel picture. Deal with it.

It all started at Trader Joe's. (I heart TJs so hard). I went in for milk, almond and cow. That's all I needed. But then I thought, I should grab some more spinach for my green smoothies. (I haven't made a single one since I bought the spinach). And then I grabbed some strawberries, mini heirloom tomatoes, Larabars (do yourself a favor: go out right after you read this and buy a Cherry Pie Larabar), and some spicy california rolls. And then the three year old noticed the special bakery table set up for Valentine's Day. There were heart shaped cookies, and whoopie pies, and gluten free flourless cakes (which is what I normally would have purchased, if anything). But then the three year old found them: Triple. Chocolate. Bundt Cakes. A pack of four of them. And she insisted, in her typically calm, rational manner, that I buy them. Remember how I mentioned I'm easily overwhelmed right now? I bought them. And we got them home and I looked at the nutrition information on the bottom of the package. And then I laughed, and laughed, and laughed. A half of one of those chocolate glazed, chocolate cakes rolled in chocolate chips, is 340 calories. And a ridiculous number of grams of fat and carbs that I'm not even going to bother to list.

Now, under normal circumstances, I can resist the urge to eat a triple chocolate bundt cake. In fact, lately, after my no sugar challenge, I don't even have the urge to eat things like triple chocolate bundt cake. But right now I'm all like:

Last one, I promise.

After a little counseling/assurance from my bestie that it would all be okay, I ate half of a triple chocolate bundt cake. And it was damn good. And I didn't feel that bad about it. And then the next day at lunch, I had some french fries and a sugary delicious Eegee's frozen slushy drink. And I still didn't feel all that bad, because I was celebrating my move. So it was okay. But later that day, I had both kids with me, and we had spent the day driving across town, moving boxes. And my mom came to see the new place and I was celebrating again. And the kids needed to eat. So we went out for pizza. And spinach artichoke dip. And hot wings. Damnit.

Today, I woke up with a renewed spirit. I had a cup of multi grain peanut butter cheerios with almond milk, coffee, and four ounces of orange juice for breakfast. And I felt good. And then I started packing boxes. And my three year old began unpacking them. And my teenager, who was supposed to be distracting the three year old, spent most of the morning complaining because I would not allow her to go to her friend's house. And then I discovered that at some point, the dog had urinated all over the three year old's toys. The same toys I was attempting to pack into boxes. And then the three year old started to sob, loudly, and inconsolably, because she couldn't put a puzzle together, and eventually I just decided I hate today. So we went to a fast food restaurant where my three year old could run around and burn off some energy (I know I'm in Arizona, but it's too damn cold right now to go to a park), and I ate a cheeseburger and fries.

Oh, and have I mentioned in the midst of all this, that I haven't had any time or desire to exercise? Yes, I know, moving is a physical activity. Believe me, I'm logging it as such on my fitness pal. But I haven't had the time or energy to go to my beloved boot camp class at the gym, or yoga, or even just go for a run, which are all a part of my normal week. And it's making me irritable. And short with the kids, the dog, cashiers, strangers....

So here is what I've decided: this stops now. I am going to get back on track, now. And I am going to be nicer to my kids, the dog, cashiers, strangers, and possibly my husband. Just kidding honey. But I am resolved to put an end to the season of the bitch. And to start eating like I know I should, and to make time to get my workouts in. Because it's all a cycle, I know that all too well. I know that if I eat right and exercise, I won't be so stressed, and overwhelmed. And then I can focus on all the positives of moving. Which is what I should be doing, and what I want to be doing. And those three chocolate bundt cakes on my kitchen counter? They'll be joining all the other stuff in the old house I secretly got rid of when the three year old wasn't paying attention.