careworn

I wonder how much we'll remember about this time, about this beleaguered, careworn feeling, undoubtedly brought on by the usual demands of child-rearing.
These days our house feels a bit overrun with boisterous children. There is a constant barrage of questions, a steady stream of requests and the firehose onslaught of plain old exuberant energy from three growing boys.
Thank goodness spring is showing up.  The sun started working again and the earth is coming back to life and the boys can be outside.

I don't spend a whole lot of time longing for ten minutes of silence or fantasizing about the day when peace might reign over the dinner table.  I am too busy referring fights and modeling civilized conversation and mopping up messes. When I do find a second in which I'm not being harassed by whatever's next, I usually whisper some gratitude for the noise and the chaos and the very full house.  Or I hide in the bathroom with chocolate.  Whatever.

No matter how it feels right now, smack in the midst of crazy, I know these years will fly by.  I love it - the loud and the messy and the exhausting - and I love them. So much. I know that given the choice of bedlam and the quiet order that may someday come, I'd opt for this period when I have to beg to be left alone. Over and over again, I would.