This should have been one of the original commandments. I don't know how it got left out. Seriously.
I have a tendency to convince myself that I can learn how not to stress, but to me and others who share my genes, this just means a happy little trip down De Nial. Sure, I can do everything. No, really, leave it to me. I can do it.
But you know what? I do whatever it is, and I do it well.
Three days later, I crash.
I fall into a little puddle of Sarah-mess, and I realize that I'm exhausted and totally spent and have completely failed to give myself any time off...
And then I get mad at WG, because, really, what else is there to do about the situation?
There are times when he's contributed to the stress (because, ladies, let's be honest, there's not a man in the world who is NEVER at fault...), and there are others when he's simply THERE and gets the brunt of my stress melt down.
By Sunday, after taking the CSET on Saturday (a grueling five-hour test that involves things I will never have to know in order to teach kindergarten), working on Sunday afternoon and stressing the whole weekend over the location of our wedding rehearsal dinner, I was done for. I was melty and tired and fussy, and did I mention exhausted?
WG and I started talking about some little thing that was annoying me, and it turned into a slightly bigger thing...and I ended up complaining that I feel like I'm always the one who has STUFF to do, STUFF that means we don't get to spend as much time together as I'd like, STUFF that means I need a nap when I get home, thus cutting into what little time we have.
He looked at me and told me that he finds it sexy that I'm so busy, that I keep myself active and involved in the world.
And I admitted that I was tired and needed to just sit and not accomplish anything for a while.
Then he went and made me dinner and we watched 30 Rock.
Thou Shalt Not Stress...the 11th Commandment.