Lend Me a Hand

I’m exhausted. Bryna took a continuing education class last week — 8 am to 5pm — and she’s taking another one next week. Although she already has her masters in school counseling, she needs four more courses to complete her permanent certification.

It’s not so much that the camp drop offs and pick ups are so bad. Oh, who am I kidding? They’re horid. Lines of stay-at-home moms in luxury SUV’s, an oddly configured drop-off zone, and an inhumanely short stoplight to get out of the swirling vortex, all combine for a miserable start to the day. At least on those days that I face camp drop off before coffee. What was I thinking? And what ever happened to car pools?

I wouldn’t be so tired if all of this didn’t coincide with Bryna’s newly diagnosed case of tendinitis in her right wrist. The doctor said it’s a result of overuse (though how you’re supposed to use your right hand less is a mystery). Actually it may be linked to lifting weights at the gym but in the meantime it’s wrapped in an ace bandage and she’s been icing it. So I’ve had to do a lot of stuff around the house that Bryna would normally do. Like cut up watermelon. She literally had to walk me through it step by step. As a friend said to me, “You can write a book and run marathons but you can’t cut watermelon? That’s pathetic!” Fine. But it’s amazing how much Bryna does around the house that gets taken for granted.

I know what you’re thinking: “Poor baby.” Admit it. But when momma’s not functioning at 100%, the whole family unit suffers. Especially when I cut Zack’s sandwich into squares instead of triangles.



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