Reporting live from my back patio. In the jeans I’ve worn for at least 5 of the previous 9 calendar days. Eating peanut butter straight from the jar. Trying to form coherent sentences. Coming up short.
Y’all. I am so tired. That’s pronounced “tarred,” bee-tee-dubs, which is the extreme southern version of plain ol’ tuckered out exhaustion.
I’m going on record (the record being this blog because no one else cares) to say that the last seven days have been some of the most challenging of my short floral career. Not the worst, mind you, but nonetheless difficult. With the help of my godsend of a new employee, we powered through two events, a wedding, a prom and a basket full of everyday orders. All told we designed and delivered nearly 150 pieces.
Just the two of us.
It was equal parts exhausting and exhilarating to finish all that work on our own, but I think I can speak for both of us when I say we’re in no hurry to try it again.
I’m settling back into a normal routine this week, and trying not to panic at the sight of Mother’s Day just a few rows away on my calendar…
Anyone want to come work at a flower shop? ;-)
What do you think?