It's not been a relaxing weekend, darlings.
I've been trying to help out at my parents' due to a health issue and I was instantly reminded that caregiving is hard and very mentally taxing. It's all too easy for Diva to slip back into Churlish Teenager when at the old homeplace and it requires deep breathing and reminders that I have a home, husband and child and don't need to growl about independence any longer.
I made scrambled eggs, although eggs make me gag. I washed things and straightened things and read aloud from Notorious Nineteen (this is what I'm good for...reading out loud, so if you ever need a virtually useless caregiver who does Lula's voice, call me). I rushed home to check the baby and make sure dh wasn't stuffing her with sugary foods and screen time (uh, yes actually) and took her back with me which brought out another home truth.
You can't take care of a sick person and a toddler simultaneously. At least I cannot. It becomes a cycle of "I'll do that in a minute, she's OH NO PUT THAT DOWN FOR MOMMY!" and "can you watch her?" and "I am never going to get to pee. Did you POOP AGAIN?" (that last one is speaking to the toddler, y'all. I don't ask adults about their defecation practices).
My beloved and adored beta reader said very smart things about my wip and gave me a lot to think about when I have time to think instead of laundry. I realize it's "launder" but I think the process of wrestling one's laundry should have its own verb to encompass the sorting, washing, drying, and putting away process at which I do not excel.
Right now, silence. And everyone still asleep and I am breathing in the stillness like so much oxygen. I crave quiet and this is nice.