Finally!

Sunday was the first day I felt normal. My energy level was high, my stomach didn't hurt and I even had the motivation to tackle a little light yard work. Sure, I slept like a rock Sunday night, but hey, it's still dramatic progress from even just a week ago.

I've even reclaimed my role as head chef in the kitchen. For over a month, Mark had culinary control, logging more hours in our new kitchen than me. But this week, I made up my meal plan and pitched my flag to regain my turf. Last night I fired up the grill. It felt so good to feed and nourish my family again.

Yes sir, Mom's back in business.

And I'm not the only one who thinks so:

Mad Dog proclaims my recovery to all who pass our front doorstep, via dry erase board.

My doctor cleared me to return to work next week Monday and I couldn't be more thrilled. I never thought I'd miss it so much, but I'm dying to get back. Dying for a project to challenge my brain -- a brain I'm afraid may have turned to Jell-O thanks to all the bad TV I've endured.

When I was feeling so badly, I couldn't focus enough to read books or magazines. Instead, I'd lay in bed and stare at the TV. Wall-to-wall coverage of MJ's death, funeral and aftermath...John & Kate's split and subsequent drama...and even a tribute to Farrah ala 24-hour marathon of Charlie's Angels. (I only made it through two episodes.) From A Baby Story to Bridezillas, daytime's reality shows turn from remotely interesting to nauseating pretty quickly.

And even the news is bad. Who needs to hear the same stories repeated over and over at 4:30-6:30 a.m. then again at noon, then 3 p.m.-5? Hearing the same sound bytes over and over - ACK! I'm glad to have a light at the end of this dreary tunnel. Now that I'm feeling better and moving around, I don't plan to watch much TV from now on.

Routines are good. Working is good. And feeling better in order to accomplish both, is GREAT.