Spiritless is how I feel at the moment, slow and sleepy and definitely drooping. Blame February. Blame January and December before it. Blame nearly a week of being snowbound and quarantined. Blame my toddler's pneumonia. Blame seasonal affective disorder and genetics. Blame the lost solo retreat to sunnier climes and the anticipation of another storm, more snowbound days, and a 12-day weekendless stretch coming soon.
I sent my husband to do the panic shopping (for once we'll be the ones responsible for clearing the shelves of milk and bread) and then asked him to take the kids out for dinner. First time I've been alone in I'm not sure how long. I poured a bath, broke out one of the hoarded bubble bars sent to me by a friend a long time ago, and read a bit of my favorite magazine.
I should probably do this more often; after Griffin drew a picture of Violet in her nightgown, he said she's sluggish in the morning, "like you." To think, I used to be a morning person, not worthy of comparison to a depressed orphan. Thanks for the wakeup call, Griff!
