It’s the last day of the holidays. The day has vanished under the weight of of last minute homework, bag packing, laundry and tidying away Christmas. Alongside a heavy dose of the Sunday night fear for 50% of us.
The day has also vanished under a chorus of “mum” “mum” “mum” “mum” “mum” “mum”
peppered with the occasional “where is my…” “how do I…..”
It’s enough to drive a woman to Cookie Crush (and last night I was playing it thinking about there’s research that says it’s a great way to take the minds of emergency personnel off traumatic thoughts, then its it’s good enough to beat premature Sunday fear!).
Once they finally got to bed I would love to tell you I jumped on to my to do list with vigour and enthusiasm. But that would be a lie. What I did was drive over to my mum’s to use her printer to sort a colour version of big girl’s homework and did the sorriest cry-singing you’ve heard this year all the way there.
I’m making baby steps towards changing the story I’m telling myself since I’ve pulled myself out of the hole long enough to type this and say the words – this too will pass, I’m choosing to feel differently about this now, I’m ok.