I got to work really early today, missing all the traffic snarls, and sat down and thought, damn, I wanted to get gas this morning, before it starts raining. Then I remembered that I actually DID stop and get gas.
It got me to thinking. I wonder if I will ever not be tired again? Ever since I had my child five-plus years ago, I feel like I’ve been tired. The type of tired and the level changes, but I’m never what I would call “not tired” or “well-rested.” And I only have the one kid! I can’t imagine how friends of mine who have three, four, I even know one Mom who has six kids, ever feel rested. Or maybe they don’t, and this is just the way.
My son is also very tired, and exceedingly cranky, due to the forced dropping of nap that starting kindergarten necessitated. He is adjusting, but is still crying every day and misbehaved at school pretty badly on Monday. I’ve been trying to help him get to bed earlier so he can get more sleep, but he’s not exactly cooperative. And doing his small, K-version of nightly “homework” hasn’t been going all that well either. Once he’s home, all he wants to do is either act silly or do a lot of nothing. He begs for TV more nights than not, and I have a list of things that he has to complete before such a privilege is allowed, which is normal, but now he acts like I am running a children’s labor camp and that I’ve asked him to dig an entire sewer trench and re-roof the building before he can watch a half hour of Spider Man or Scooby Do. So there’s a lot of whining, and it takes a lot of patience when you’re as tired as I am to cook all the things, clean all the things, work on all the homework things and still not snap and yell, “WOULD YOU JUST PICK UP YOUR GODDAMNED SHOES AND CLOTHES AND SHUT UP!” I manage not to do that, but I can’t say it isn’t hard. Because tired.
Last night, after fixing dinner, cleaning up the huge mess that tacos and rice make, including dishes I had to do from the night before that could not be done because the inconsiderate fuckhole neighbors had 150+ people over, backed up the sewer and the water had to be shut off while they tried to fix it, doing all the dishes from taco dinner, sweeping the kitchen, making sure D got a bath, selecting and ironing clothes for school picture day and paying some bills, I finally got his teeth brushed and got him into bed. He is FINALLY letting me read stories to him occasionally instead of just “making fun of the pictures,” which is a theater-style exercise in voices, improv and storytelling but is not the same as having a story read to you, and he selected a small book about Eeyore’s birthday party. I wasn’t even done with it and his eyes were closing, which is pretty unusual for my hyper boy. I know this is rough on him and he’s beat too. And I was too, as by this time it was 8 o’clock, and I still have a wicked cold and each day at work has been spent working very, very hard writing a lot of things that I know very little about but which are on deadline and must be completed tout suite. So I went for a run. Because that was the only time I had left to exercise. And I just got my revised cholesterol numbers yesterday, and they are better than they have been in like 6 years, but there is still room for improvement, and eating tacos and sitting on my fat ass is not the way to make it happen. So I got two fast miles run, mostly in the dark, and managed not to break my ankle or anything, which is great. I took a shower and stretched and then flopped into bed, too tired to even read the book I’m in the middle of (Grace Slick’s autobiography).
So tired. More coffee.