I have, since moving to the States 8 years ago, marvelled at the title of "The Department of Mental Health and Hygiene." What a wonderful phrase, suggesting, as it does, that psychiatric misfunctions and malaises have to do with cleanliness. Depressed? Well, you haven't been washing your brain properly, have you?
It has been an ego-crushing week at work (is it really only Tuesday?), with the addition of the student blowing his nose into his sleeve distractingly in class yesterday (was that really only yesterday??).
It has also been a rough week so far with Clara, who has taken to refusing any/everything I offer her and then crying hysterically when I stop offering. "Clara, would you like a yogurt or a piece of fruit for breakfast?" "Noooooooo!" "OK [leaving the kitchen] let me know when you are hungry" "No! No! No! Mummyyyyyy! No! [which continues, increasingly shrilly, for 10 minutes at a time]."
I think I need to reasses my theory that I only have time to juggle work (one ball) and kids (the other ball), for if everything is crap with both of those balls and I feel like my soul is cuddling up to a cheese grater, I need some refuge. Not sure what, yet. But a third ball. A small one. I need it.