Yesterday was quite a day, I tell you. You know those days where you're cruising along without many speed bumps or red lights, and then you just hit this ditch, and the whole car goes thud...? Sputter, sputter, cough, cough. Ugh, ugh.
And there you have it. There's no getting out of it until some massive crane operator happens to pass by. This person of course being my husband.
To explain in plainer terms, I just felt overworked, overwhelmed, and spread far too thin. I swore off any activity - Pilates, phone calls, walks in the park, moms groups, reading my seven different books. All of it seemed like too much. It was time to do nothing, and I mean for like an entire month.
I am a bit better today. Pilates, although results still cannot be seen, and meeting moms in the area, for instance, seem like not only reasonable activities but also necessary ones.
How is it that those same things that improve our sanity also make us crazy? Choc-full-o-nuts.
Reading books on spirituality, for instance. I've come to a temporary conclusion (as I have many times) that spirituality is definitely not in any church, ashram, or mosque - no matter how open or friendly those places might be.
Rather, spirituality is in mental health. It's in making a good cup of coffee. Cooking eggs really well. Watching my son discover the pattern in a blanket. Seeing his little face light up when he hears a song he likes. Listening to silence. Watching a hawk perched on a wooden fence.
It's time to get up now, and pick up my child off the floor, slowly and tenderly.
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