Last night as we gathered in a circle for prayer, the fussing started.
And the fussing quickly turned into weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth as everyone expressed their own personal concerns about the end of spring break and the start of another school week.
I was determined to stay positive.
"It's only nine more weeks! We're almost there!" I said with forced cheerfulness.
They weren't buying it.
"It'll be here before you know it," I said less confidently, and shooed them to bed.
And then did a bit of weeping and wailing of my own.
Yesterday in Relief Society we were talking about hope. The teacher asked if we could think of a time in our lives when we felt great despair and an absence of hope. I'm embarrassed to say that the first thing that came to mind was our imminent return to school and the thought of my upcoming week. The calendar days filled to almost blackout with "to-go-to's."
There was a bit of crying this morning too. (It wasn't me. Hide your shock.) But we are more or less off and trudging. The dishwasher is humming and the kids have climbed on the bus. Even if it was done with a a few heavy sighs. (Okay, that might have been me.)
The one bright spot of hope for me this morning was the sand all over the floor of my laundry room. Lovely surprise. I was filled by the thought of more sandy days ahead. Just nine weeks away. I have no intention of sweeping it up. How about that? Entropy finally comes through for me.