In the last week or so, I have found life almost unbearably difficult.  I know that it is the natural come-down after the trip to the States.  I know it it the contrast between being with my family and Kevin to coming back and being alone and so tired.

I repeat over and over to myself that no one is supposed to parent in this kind of isolation, that suburban housewife is a new thing. But knowing something logically is little help. 

And yet, we plod on. I garden. I crochet. I spin. I cook. I do laundry. I worry endlessly about what to do about Ellis and preschool. Keeping his afternoon space makes us essentially housebound, keeps us away from all of our other friends and stops the babies from napping, and therefore leaves me no time to get anything done. However, it does mean some connection to the outside world and engagement with his peers. And so I worry endlessly about it, flitting from one decision to another.

The exhaustion is bone deep. But it, like everything, is just a phase.  I know we will find our way through these days and emerge relatively unscathed. And, if all else fails, we always find humour in the worst moments:

Me, shouting at Ellis: "Ellis, why is your bike laying here in the door way on its side. I keep tripping over it"

Ellis: "Because you got mad and threw it this morning"

Me: "Oh. You are right, I did."