A Splendid Inconvenience

The boys are rowdy.  Loud and rambunctious and energetic.  They seem to have stamina on steroids.  If we could harness it somehow, they could probably be the largest suppliers of natural energy.

They are ravenous when we are out of eggs and milk, and not hungry at all when I've spent all afternoon over the stove.  They are tired when it's time to pick up toys, and ready to wrestle, always, right before bed.  It's not until they are asleep that we can finish any of the sentences we started that day.

One misplaces the remote and one messes up the throw pillows, and they both drive me to eat a little too much dark chocolate.  One has mastered the eye roll and one still thinks it's hilarious to mark on the walls.  Oh wait, that's actually the same one.

Imagining that I might get to finish a meal while it's still warm seems to be some sort of delusional parent disorder. Imagining that all the laundry could be clean and folded and put away at once is too.  As is sleeping until the sun rises.  Or peeing alone.

When I humbly approach this existence - my small role in the scheme of things, what laughably little control I have, the fact that it will all end - I know that I am blessed to be consumed by this small, boisterous brood.  I am lucky to know what it’s like to live on very little sleep, on coffee and cold soup, with a heart nearly bursting.