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Browsing Tag: tired

A Quiet One

It is a gloomy day here in my tiny corner of Pennsylvania. A rainy day. A tired day. After a long weekend, a long couple of weeks, I wave the girls off to school with their dad and wait for the coffee to kick in. When it doesn’t, I drag myself up the stairs to throw myself down onto the bed that hasn’t yet been made. Cian follows me, his toys in his arms, settling down on the bedroom carpet to play. Twenty minutes of sleep, I promise myself. Just twenty minutes, and then I can tackle the Monday. Twenty minutes. I rouse to a small child dozing against my side. He senses my movement before I have a chance to open my eyes. “Wake up! Wake up, Mommy! It’s moe-ning.” I roll over to smile at him, but find myself wincing in pain instead. I pull a toy hammer out from under my side. Next, a child-sized flashlight. “My bin-ocklars, Mommy,” he says, his dimpled hand spread wide, reaching toward the blanket. I fish the binoculars out from under the covers and pass them to him…

And Yet I’ve Never Been Diagnosed With Anxiety

The night before last, Quinlan, still recovering from allergies or a cold or something, appeared beside our bed (always my side) and said she could’t sleep because she’d had a bad dream. So she spent the night (again) with us (on my side. Of course). It’s become a pattern that, frankly, I’m too tired to break. Judge not unless you’ve heard a weeping child say that the shadows in her room give her nightmares. Last night, Quinlan slept through the night, in her own bed (well, not her own bed. She was in the bottom bunk in Saoirse’s room. Because this child has some issues with being alone that we should probably work on, if we weren’t so tired to do so). Cian, though, was up at 3:17, fussing because of a wet diaper and a chilly room. David went in to get him. Fastest one out of bed wins. Or loses. Whichever. My alarm went off at 5:30. I was going to get up and work on Book #2 (a new project is finally, finally, starting to bloom), but when your eyelids don…