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.