Me Time

This Wednesday morning finds me tempting the edges of smug on the smoothing of the "New Normal" of getting all three children off to school in the morning and sliding into ? ? ? So far the silence in the truck has been deafening as I have been pulling out of the daycare parking lot with no immediate caregiver demands clamouring at my elbow. The time alone has been unfocused and confusing. I can barely remember the life I had when the shit storm season began back in June, much less pull any of the threads forward into this freakish "New Normal." From adventerous retiree to a second parenting career is one hell of a life shift. It feels appropriate to compare myself to Judy Garland (Dorothy) clutching the little yorkshire terrier in her arms as she took her first steps onto the porch after her house landed in Oz. "Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore." Persilly is too big to carry, so I need to use the stage dog for this scene, but she has been feeling all these changes, too. Can you get these lollipop kids to quit leaving lollipops in my bed?

I am working the theory that it is okay to be fissurey and confused at this stage of ^it^. It's allot to sort and process. Should I be sorting or processing first? Maybe I'll *just* catch up on housework? Me and what cleaning team? Sigh. . .

My mantra for the transition seems to have become, "Rest is a productive activity." There is zero doubt on anybody's measure that both Hubs and I have been rode hard and put away wet once too often in the past six months. We's gettin' plow welts a-plenty and feeling the depth of our years.