Clocking Out

Solely for the cuteness factor

It’s been such a week. With the exception of my little adventure yesterday, and maybe the time… nope, that’s it, just my little adventure yesterday… it’s been a highly stressful, highly emotional, highly anxiety provoking week.  And I’m tired.

Today I spent the day – the whole damn day – working on school work.  If you’re reading this and are unaware, I went back to school to study psychology this past summer.  I was really selective about who I told in the beginning, mainly because of bubble-bursters, but it’s not really a secret.  I went back to school, and it’s an adjustment, and I love it and it’s hard and it’s scary and it’s stressful and it’s liberating…. all at the same time.

But I don’t really want to talk about school.  I just wanted to clarify that it is ME who is going to school, because I got a comment a few posts back asking, “If you’re an unschooler, then why do you have a planner with lesson plans in it?”  I have a planner with lessons in it because I’m in school.  My kids are not.

So to sum up:

I had a hard week.

I worked on school work all day.

I’m very tired.

It’s 7:00 at night, and we’ve announced a yoyo dinner (I totally just googled whether or not that was a universal phrase or something just my family used, because it occurred to me that I didn’t know.) The Google says that lots of people use it.  Anyway, I finished my school work, it’s yoyo for dinner, and I. Am. Done.  I would actually go to bed right now, except that I am already waking up way too early and going to bed at 7:00 wouldn’t help in that regard.  Also, the two younger boys are in Tucson with friends, and won’t be home until very late.  As any mother can tell you, I won’t be able to really sleep until they’re safely home anyway.

So, I’m just clocking out.  I’m washing my face and putting on my Snoopy pajama pants and I’m reading a book.  Not a school book, or a book that I’m reviewing for my blog, or a book that tells me how to be a better me, but just a book-book: with drama and intrigue and pages and pages of escape-from-real-life bliss.  I might read it in the bath tub.  I don’t drink anymore, but maybe I’ll make myself some tea.  Maybe I’ll go all out and light a candle.

And just like yesterday, I know it doesn’t actually fix anything, but it’s still a piece.  A piece in the intricate web of self-care that has for some reason found itself unraveling as of late.

I’ll be okay.

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