I'm not gonna lie, lately I've been drained. I'm an internalizer when it comes to stress. Instead of getting frazzled and snappy, I get tired (and then I get frazzled and snappy, but it's because I'm tired). As Noah's departure for Navy boot camp creeps closer, the anticipation of it is getting to me. I've begun frequently throwing myself prostrate at/on him, clinging pathetically and pressing my face against his so he can't take a breath without inhaling my suffering.
And I've bitten the bullet and made a decision. I'm not putting Ethan in preschool yet. I had the application, I'd talked to the director, and we even thought we'd go to the open house today at the preschool that is literally around the corner (walkable, and we live in a part of town with no sidewalks, that's how close it is). But it's just too much. I say it's too much for him—too many changes, what with Noah leaving—but I think it might just be too much for me. Can't quite parse that one out. He has two and a half years until kindergarten, so we have plenty of time to enroll him for readiness purposes next fall.
It's hard for me to blog when I don't feel jovial, because humor is not only my bag, it's my defense mechanism of choice, and when I'm not able to muster, it leads me to doubt my Fierce Beagleiness, which is why all twelve of you guys come here and read what I write. Right? Ugh. I just don't have any jokes right now.