My first impulse is to apologize to you, dear reader, for not writing earlier.
But then I remind myself that I’m attempting to apologize less.
I’m writing this while standing at the countertop in our new kitchen (you never know where inspiration will strike – mine struck while unloading the dishwasher). Betsy is sniffing around, exploring every cabinet that I open, and often finding herself in sticky situations (she somehow got behind an open drawer, and I wasn’t really sure if she’d be able to get out).
Life is EXHAUSTING, y’all.
Don’t you feel that there are just periods of life where you stop and think, “I’m not sure I can handle much more.”