It has been thirty-seven days since we left the house as a family to go somewhere, actually getting out of the car. (I’m not counting going for a sanity drive, as going somewhere, nor am I counting walks.)
I’m feeling more that a bit like this guy.
And I know I should not be complaining. We are fine. We have more than enough oatmeal-chocolate-chip cookies to eat, but sometimes I just want more.
And please don’t get me wrong and think that I am making light of the situation; I am not. But I have never felt quite like a deflated looking, upside down Sock Monkey before.