Mundane Mondays

9/14/2026:

Mundane Mondays..

I was going to just post this on social media without turning it into a blog post. And then I realized: I typed an entire blog post, anyway. And so on today—on this Mundane Monday, it’s a blog post.

Do you ever just have a day? A good day or a bad day or a boring day or a busy day or an overwhelming day or an annoying day or just…a day?

I know the answer to that question is yes. And so I know you’ll understand.

Today, was a day, for me. It was good. Nothing bad happened. I simply had plans that were derailed, like many of my plans are derailed, which tells me I need to do better at planning but I digress…

The short story is that I had to do things I didn’t necessarily want to do and I was faced with the emotional and real-world impacts of those things. Were these things bad? No. Today, I dropped BOTH of my kids off at school for the first time since the spring of 2019. We’ve been homeschooling since then, and we had a good rhythm going, but we all had to finally realize that they were older now, and they needed more. More adults in their life—more than just me. More social situations than the homeschool life we had set up over the last 7 years could offer. More opportunities to connect with the outside world, make friends, find their community and find their passions. More practice navigating life without mom by their side 24/7, and more exposure to everything life has to offer—the good, the bad, the beautiful and the ugly.

We all recognized that they needed to grow up and become more independent, and so once they posed the idea about going back and then became adamant about it, I enrolled them in public school.

On one hand, I was happy. I knew I would have my days back. I knew I would have large blocks of uninterrupted time to actually do things. I knew I would be able to refocus on myself, for the first time in over 16 years.

On the other hand, I was terrified. I knew I would have my days back. I knew I would have large blocks of uninterrupted time to actually do things. I knew I would be able to refocus on myself, for the first time in over 16 years.

You get me?

And so, I dropped the kids off and returned home, expecting to do some spiritual work, clean up the mess we made from morning breakfast shenanigans, feed the birds and then start working.

Only once I got home, I felt an exhaustion so deep, I crashed. I didn’t even make it past the sofa. I. Just. Crashed.

And I slept FOR FOUR HOURS. Four hours.

When I woke up, I wasn’t sure what had happened. I felt guilty, and ashamed, and strangely, still tired. I wanted to curl up into a ball and keep feeling bad about myself, but I got up and did what I had to do, and while I was cleaning up the effects of the tornado that had torn my kitchen up earlier that morning, I started to think.

About all the time I’ve spent with my kids since they arrived earth-side.

About the fact that we’ve been inseparable for their entire lives.

About the fact that we’ve done EVERYTHING together every second, minute, day and hour since they were born.

About the fact that I’ve always had free access to them. When they were with friends, I usually hosted. When they were with family, I kept close tabs on the phone. And when they were at school, I was there by their side. Always. I watched them walk to lunch and play on the playground. I volunteered in their classrooms. I worked several jobs in shifts—teaching reading in the morning, working the preschool classroom in the afternoon, and leading the gardening class for the afterschool program. I headed up the PTA. I lead equity classes at night. I sat in the parents’ lounge when I wasn’t working or volunteering, holding space for miserable housewives and parents—awful and lovely. Trying to help people deal with the inequities inherent in the public school system. I cooked for school events, creating community over cultural delicacies and helping to create a safe space for those facing food insecurities by offering dinner with free evening classes in our fancy new school kitchen.

I thought about the fact that they filled my life, even when it was hard. Even when I wanted to fill my life with other things. Even when I was tired and alone and scared that I wasn’t enough for them. Not good enough, not smart enough to do the right thing, not free enough from the traumas that shaped my own life to raise them into healthy, whole, productive members of society.

I thought.

And then I realized where that crash had come from.

It had come from years of exhaustion. Years of worry, and lack of sleep, and lack of support, and lack of a loving partnership to help me raise our kids. It had come from years of battle with a husband who did not truly love me or trust me or want anything good for me. It had come from years of protecting my children from the very man who helped bring them into this world.

It came, from the fact that my entire life was them. And they were gone, now.

Not gone-gone, but no longer accessible to me. I no longer knew what they did all day, or who they spent time with. I no longer know how they’re doing in their studies, or how to make sure they’re doing their homework and understanding their schoolwork. I can’t advocate for them anymore—not the same way I could when they were little.

I’ve handed them over to the system, and it’s a system that has set up a rule that won’t even allow for parents to VISIT their kids during the school day. I can’t make sure they’re okay.

No more lunches. No more volunteering in classrooms. No more being there for them and with them, all day, every day. And it’s necessary and it’s good and they wanted it and I needed it and I’m proud of the humans they are growing up to be…but I’m sad about it.

I miss my kids. I missed them the second the Guidance counselor finished up the enrollment process and looked me in the eye and said, Ms. Handberry, I guess you can go now. We’re going to do the tour…

On the drive home, without even having a conscious thought, all the memories of our life together so far came crashing down. All the things I was going to miss out on from here on out flashed before my eyes. I understood that nothing would be the same, and that is both terrifying and good.

It’s a good, good thing.

And I’m sad, and scared that now—I have no choice but to live again.

For me.

And so, I crashed. I had a day. And I’m shifting into tomorrow, so I don’t have the exact same day, again.