I am tired. I am grumpy. I am hard to get along with as of late. I start to wash dishes only to run out of motivation part way through and walk away leaving dishes unwashed and questioning their self worth.
“Why did the egg pan get washed and I didn’t?” wonders the cutting board.
I wander room to room in my own house as if at a loss for what to do next. I vacuum erratically not bothering to move chairs or the large ride-on inchworm toy that has taken up residence at the end of our hallway.
I make barely passable meals and then quite often get up abruptly in the middle of eating them, walk to another room, and sob quietly so as not to disturb my children.
I don’t like this new me. I am not as patience. The silly and loud noises that come in a continual stream from my boys bothers me instead of making me chuckle with the knowledge that I understand their inside jokes and that I too find them funny.
I don’t like writing about death, dark and the dreary but I can’t seem to remember what I used to write about. I would love to tell you that I often wonder just how many toothpaste caps it takes to clog up a typical home bathroom drain (we are at three and counting) in a flippant and comical manner but I would rather crawl into bed and sleep.
Today it has been one week since my dad died, so maybe it is alright to feel this way.
But it doesn’t mean I have to like it.
I am taking Cody and Carter to their Grandma’s house for a couple days since it is mid winter break and they don’t have school. And although we will be staying at the house I grew up in, a house with so many memories of my dad, it just seems like the right place to be at this moment. It might make it seem more real to the boys who have been using the words dead and dying in their play a lot lately. They are trying to process what happened to their Grandpa in their own way and I help by answering their questions as honestly as I can.
Last night I asked the boys to each pack their own suitcase. Carter, so very proud, came out to get me and led me by the hand back to his bedroom. There was his suitcase in the middle of his room packed with his stuffed animals, Snake and Zebra, three books, and two pairs of socks. No other articles of clothing were packed. Cody did better in the clothing department, packing six pairs of underwear, two pants, two shirts, a plastic bug, and a blanket for sleeping with. He did not want to pack Kissy Shrimp until the morning since there was still one more sleep until we left.
I am in a slump and as Dr. Seuss so eloquently put it “Un-slumping yourself is not easily done.”
So I ask of you to please bear with me. The next couple weeks may be a bit patchy. I will find my way back to a semblance of where I was. I just need a little more time.