Allan is traveling for the next forty hundred million four days, and although I can claim to have survived with decency through first day of paternal absence, nighttime turns out to be one massive Achilles' heel of my current motherhood phase.

Dearest older kids (who as of now are tangled into one giant sleeping ball on my bed):

Here's why Mama is ridiculously cranky when you start your nighttime journeys of up and down the stairs, in and out of the bathrooms, to and from water glasses: I'm dying to have a moment to myself. It's not going to be a glamorous or wise moment; not one where I read deep thoughts or spend time perusing Pinterest in search of how to best position your developing brains with yet another Montessori-worthy craft tomorrow. It would be spent simply sitting in silence and attempting to let my brain catch up on itself. When I'm deprived by your innocent yet endless migrations even of that sliver of time, Karma hits my giant RED button, also known as I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE, and intense crankiness ensues.

I'm no doubt sorry to some degree, while you're still small. But I'm also clear that as you grow, you will know that I'm a person too. With boundaries, need for solitude, and need to live with my thoughts. I will always allow you to live with yours as you need it, but we're going to establish that it's a two-way street.

Anyway. I love you both. And I hope you're finally asleep.