That’s All She Wrote

I think I’ve reached that burned out, done like dinner, need a vacation time of the year.  My house looks like a bomb exploded and I really can’t get motivated to be upset over it.  There was a stuffed animal in my freezer last week and instead of becoming indignant, all I could think was, “Gosh, that animal is really squished in there.  Maybe I should throw some stuff away.”  There are folders and papers from Middle School Daughter all over the kitchen table, Indiana Jones paraphanalia from Youngest Son on the family room floor and the dog’s toys strewn all over.  It’s time for a good cleaning and all I need is a little motivation.

All my kids will be done for the year tomorrow and I’m in that transitional mode of being done with one thing but not sure how to start onto something new.  We don’t have too many plans, a focus or a plan of attack to speak of, so there’s really nothing new to start, period.  I think my house is reflecting my feelings.  I didn’t realize that inanimate objects were so intuitive. 

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