Weekends feel much more like indefinite second shift than the off-duty crown of the week. By 9 in the evening, I require a period of complete and total left-aloneness. The pale analogy of what transpires on weekends would be of three equally noisy, static-y radio stations running simultaneously, and intermittently losing and acquiring signal and volume. To my introverted, one-track brain this typically leads to near-combustion immediately after all three kids have been shoveled into beds. Which by itself takes no less then a cumulative hour and a half - if we are lucky.
Having said that (in an attempt to get out pent-up lack of any semblance of solitude), I'm going on record to say that I love my three radios... children dearly and count it as an amazing privilege to know they are here with me - even when shoveled into beds. One day, the commotion will be gone. And after that unbelievably fantastic extended vacation to Bora Bora to a resort where only adults are allowed, I will miss the crazy. The squeals, the plea deals on whodunit, the utter inability to keep quiet, the whining, the bargaining. And the sloppy kisses, the "wuv you"'s, sitting next to me on the couch, the tiny tea parties, the crayon portraits on the refrigerator. I suppose then I'll just crank up the "grand kids" guilt trip?...
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