Ten minutes of peace

I’m sitting, slouched, in my office chair. I had music of my choice on, quietly, but I shut it off because it was too loud. My work is done for the weekend’s church services and I have fifteen minutes to myself. I should probably go outside and get some fresh air, but I’m too tired. And it might be too loud. Maybe I should get a cup of coffee somewhere, but I don’t have the energy to get up to go get it. And I might have to talk to someone, which would be too loud.

I’m very tired. My ears hurt. I don’t notice it until it’s quiet, but then the contrast is unmistakable.

I love my boys so much. I love their silliness and their imagination and their energy and joy. I love their curiosity and innocence and peculiarities. I love their dirty knees and their short haircuts and their sweet smiles.

I’m getting a decent amount of sleep at night. Felix sleeps for 8 hours, eats, and then puts in another 3 or 4. I’m only having to get up once a night. I shouldn’t be this tired, right?

I am housebound. After two partial days of solo parenting I’m aching to get out and DO something, but the collective manifesto of all that would need to happen to transport three children under the age of 6 quickly nullifies the desire. So we play baseball in the backyard. Or they dig behind the bush in the front yard. And I pace the 40 feet in front of our house and do laps around the yards with Felix, bouncing and singing, just trying to keep him calm.

James yells at Owen for taking his shovel. Owen yells “NOOOOO!!” back, not because it means anything, but because it’s a loud, fun word to yell. This alternates for another couple of minutes while I pace. Per usual, they sort it out on their own. But in the meantime, noise.

Felix is slowly becoming formulaic. One nap >  90 minutes = 60 minutes of contented consciousness. Nap < 90 minutes = spiral into exhaustion—screaming—doze for 10 minutes—screaming—exhaustion—doze—etc. Most days are at least half the latter. I can count on one hand the number of days when we’ve had two naps long enough to pacify and reset. This isn’t healthy, but I haven’t hit on the answer yet.

I look at the laundry baskets, full of folded clothes that we did the last time we were both home. Haven’t gotten them upstairs or put away yet.

The dishes are done. Meals have been eaten. I’m staying on top of thank you notes.

I’m even getting in a few bites of books here and there. I could go for a really good, easy, summer read right now. Any recommendations? Currently reading The Omnivore’s Dilemma and Simple Church. Neither are doing much for me right now, other than acting as sedatives.

Soon I will need to direct a choir rehearsal for an hour, speaking loudly and attempting to multitask as much productivity into a small amount of time. This reeks of familiarity...

Tomorrow Roy has promised two hours to myself in the morning. I plan to drive to Webster where there is coffee and retail. I have already looked up what times different stores open to best maximize my time. But I may end up just reading in Starbucks.

Either way, it will be quiet.