I’m going to begin with, “Isn’t summer delicious?” No stress, no alarms, no bed times, no parents standing over you screaming at the top of their lungs telling you to get ready for school. The deliciousness of summer ended for us two weeks ago. Yes, I’ll admit that, as a parent, I was ready to get the monsters kids out of the house. However, as the end approached I felt an even stronger, familiar ache in the old tummy.
I knew immediately that this deep ache was my all-time, “A” number one enemy, inspiration of all things therapeutic, of all things yoga, and quite frankly, the evening glass(es) of wine. Yes, it was (pause for effect) parent of a chronically ill child anxiety.
Now if you’re out there, currently perusing this post, you know who you are. No need to fool yourself. In fact, sometimes it’s better to go ahead and lay it all out in front of God and anybody else who cares to listen rather than bottling those feelings up deep inside.
Having said that, consider yourself forewarned that the summer has indeed ended and, while I may appear incredibly elated calm on the outside, inside I am a quivering ball of nervous mush.
The anti-christ Jessie has been in school for two weeks now and until today has done splendidly. She has been very tired in the evenings, but has been great about resting. This weekend, her boyfriend, Satan himself Nathan, came for a visit. I have to say that it was an enormously stressful terrific weekend. Jes, Nathan, Wes and friends did lots of fun things, interspersed with tons of rest. I think she’s had a bit of a flare (CFS term meaning tiny relapse) but it’s probably minor and short-lived. I confess that the timing probably wasn’t the best for a visit and the blame falls entirely on the stupid kids for planning this me.