Tired

There is one thing that all parents of small children have in common. We are tired. Tired, with a capital T. It's easy to spot. The circles under the eyes. The miss-matched socks, and slumped shoulders, the irritable grimace. The mega cup of Starbucks, a constant accessory. I apologize to my readers who do not have children in advance, but I must get this off of my sleepy chest.... you have no idea. I realize you have tiring, difficult days. You may pull long hours at the office, you may wear yourself out running marathons and competing in triathlons. You may ache from a difficult day in the garden or a late night party, you may work your tush off at a thankless volunteer job. But, I feel it's different. Because eventually you have a break. You might veg out in front of the TV on a Saturday, or read a book on the beach all day. You may take a REAL vacation.

I can say that with the exception of a six day vacation when Zachary was 11 months old, and a weekend in Vegas for our ten year anniversary, David and I have been on the go for nearly five years. Five years of getting up with the sun, and sometimes before. Five years when the best we can do was a hire a babysitter and steal a couple hours on a Saturday night for dinner. Five years of juggling a baby on one hip, a basket of laundry on the other, with a phone wedged between shoulder and ear making a doctor's appointment for the son with an ear infection. Is life enjoyable? Yes. I can't complain and our days are filled with family fun. Yet, how my body longs for true down time. Time when I am not a) working b) commuting c) cleaning d) playing referee to two squabbling kids e) cooking or even f) blogging in a hurry.

I just want quiet. Pure peace. Days of nothing. Days of no one. Waking up without a plan and nobody to report to or look after. Hours alone with zero guilt. Reading and writing without a ticking clock. I want a break.

I want to not be Tired.