I am tired.
I somehow have this theory that I am invincible with sleep. I claim that I can live on very little of it. And, for the most part, I can…in small doses. I know people who have to have their eight hours each night, and I seem to do fine with four or five.
This week I was humbled once again when I came to grips with the fact that I do, in fact, need sleep. Way more sleep. I can do the four or five hours for one or two nights, but if I string those low-sleep nights together for longer than that, boy howdy, my family is in for it. Sure, I can get WAY more done. My most productive time is at night when the house is quiet and everyone’s fast asleep. And then, of course I still have to get up in the morning. I have to practice with my kids. I have to get the lunches packed. I have to work out. I have to sign what seems like three thousand papers for teachers and remind the kids to be kind and send them out the door with kisses.
But I’m here to admit that although I got 39 projects done last week and discussed the world with my parents and my book club and and even snuck in a movie and seven loads of laundry, I also flipped out at my kids (and a couple of their friends) 42 times, and I gave Dave the “stink-eye” close to 100 times I’m sure (poor Dave…I’m a piece of work).
Sadly, the backrub-if-in-bed-by-10 deal with Dave was only a week long, gosh darn it.
So, I’m repenting, and heading to bed.