This past week was the hardest (thus far) in a string of hard weeks. I wasn't sure I'd make it out in one piece. But I did. Maybe not in the best of shape, but I made it. (I think the line I'm looking for is "I'm not broke, but you can see the cracks.")
Hubby has been coming through like a champ in all of this craziness, taking up slack wherever I leave it laying around. (Which is everywhere.) Wednesday he showed up at work, 10 minutes before a meeting that promised to not be pretty, with a venti soy hot chocolate. I think he saved my life then.
But I still wound up at the weekend feeling, in no small way, the physical toll this space in time is taking on me.
And when I found myself at Sunday morning, already starting to fret about what hadn't been done yet, as well as what needs to be done in the week to come, Hubby pulled me close. Then he cleaned the bathroom, vacuumed, dusted, and did dishes.
And I laced up my hiking boots and didn't worry about things for an hour.