I’ve been struggling to write lately; I’m not sure why. For awhile there words were just shooting out of me, whether or not they were any good. (But some of them were, I think.) I felt almost possessed by the need to write, and that felt good. Great, even. More recently my writing has felt dull and plodding to me, much like how I feel when I’m walking for the first time in awhile. My words feel as heavy as my footsteps smacking the path as I walk: trudge, trudge, trudge. My mind feels as slow as my body, which trust me is not a feeling I’d ever want. Takes me back to my preschool report card: “Debbie is intellectually faster and physically slower than the other children.” Yep. That pretty much sums it up. Unfortunately, in the last couple of weeks my brain feels sluggish as well. I can’t seem to get the words to fit together the way I’d like. Nothing connects effortlessly. I read my own words, and feel like I’m blabbering and purposeless… blah, blah, blah. I sense a problem, but I don’t know how to fix it.
Speaking of walking, I haven’t been doing much. Chris has been getting home just late enough to make leaving the house awkward. Don’t get me wrong, I’d much rather he be working. I’d prefer to be out of shape but have a semi-viable income, thank you very much. (Do you hear me, Universe? Is that clear enough for you???) Things have been going reasonably well at this contract job, well enough that I haven’t wanted to jinx things by talking or writing about them. Sound crazy? Spend a few years in my world. Having an income has been nice. It’s not like we suddenly have the money to fix everything… that would pretty much require a Powerball win. But it does mean it’s been possible to pay some bills and buy groceries without having to check to see if there’s enough money in the account. That’s been indescribably lovely. Truly. I wish I could feel good about it without feeling like I was crossing a frozen pond in early spring. I keep treading lightly and listening for cracking sounds. It is after all still a contract job. Things are going well, but they could pull the plug at any moment. So, on that note, I am ducking my head down again and praying to any entity who cares that this can continue, please. Pretty please.
We have been trying to dial back everyone’s bedtime. School starts next Monday, which means dragging myself out of bed before 7 and making sure Braeden is awake, eats breakfast and has a lunch ready to go. More important, it means taking Avery with me to drop Braeden off at school. Even if I take her still in her pajamas – which is absolutely my plan, by the way – she will most likely be awake from that point forward. This is a girl who typically sleeps until 10 AM or later, so that’s rough. I have been trying to get both of us up somewhat earlier, and encouraging her to nap earlier as well. Strangely, Avery has been going along with both of those changes. Where we continue to struggle is bedtime. My little night owl seems to stay awake late even when she’s woken up earlier and taken an early nap. We get her to bed as early as we can (for all of us, given that we co-sleep), and she is the one tossing and turning and remaining awake. Chris goes out nearly immediately, since he wakes up ultra-early for work. I’d like to be asleep, but Avery is keeping me up. At least we’re improving, I guess. I’m hopeful that if she is awake by 8 every morning nature will take its course and she will fall asleep sooner. Maybe not as early as a typical toddler, but earlier. Right? Isn’t that how things are supposed to work?
I’m tired. We had a major back-to-school shopping outing today, both clothes and school supplies. It was successful, and I’m feeling accomplished but exhausted. Last night in bed I commented to Chris that it was interesting that Avery still says, “a night” instead of “good night,” since she uses “good” in dozens of other contexts. As soon as I said it, Avery piped right in.
“Night night, Avery.”
(Me, laughing) “Night night, Avery. Yes, I get it.”
Now Chris and I are both laughing. Hard.
“Yes, Avery Mae. Night night, smart girl, night night.”
A few moments of silence, followed by the inevitable
Sigh. Yes, she’s smart. Too freaking smart. Clearly “a night” is a choice she’s making. Oh, help.
A night to all.