I haven’t written in a week and a half. I’ve been meaning to, as I always mean to, but haven’t been able to make it happen.
The house has been messier. My patience shorter. My ability to stay awake past 9:30 severely compromised. Things are going well, but just… blah. I’ve hit a rut of some sort and am trying to find my way out.
I was laying in bed one evening last week, nursing Boo back down for what felt like the 78th time since she’d gone to sleep the hour prior, and holding my iPhone over her head in the dark, started to catch up on some of the bajillion unread items in my Google Reader. When I came across this post from Dooce, it was like a big duh! knocked me in the forehead.
I don’t suffer from depression, but sometimes the seasonal changes knock me a little out of whack anyway. And over the last two weeks, the daily highs have dropped dramatically, the sun seems to be disappearing significantly earlier with each passing night, and the girls and I have started a whole new whirlwind of activities and routine.
No wonder we’re all a little off kilter.
Things are starting to come around this week, I can tell. The gals and I have been on task more like usual — enjoying our activities, both formal and informal, and starting to dig our house out from under these disorganized piles of crap — and it feels good. We’ve got a weekly plan in place again this week and are mostly sticking to it. And the sun has been shining bright and warm the last two days, allowing us — practically begging us — to get out and enjoy it while we still can.
So please forgive me if things seem a bit quiet around here for the next few days. I’ll be at the playground shaking my sillies out.