The Summer Wearies

The second before I started typing, with my fingers poised to begin a little brilliance, my children brought to me a clock that my three year old broke. Just now.

A fitting intro to a post for weary mamas. I am sitting at our makeshift computer desk in my living room, coffee cup round two next to me, and my four little ones are in the adjacent playroom doing what they do best: being louder than literal hurricanes. I can hear my girls excitedly instructing one another in a make believe game, my three year old son growling like a "bad lion" and knocking things over (I'm trying hard not to decipher exactly what, ignorance is bliss), and the baby enthusiastically learning how to be as ear-piercing as his siblings. He's catching on well.

The decibels that their small bodies can produce is astounding. People comment. We've thought about contacting the Guinness World Records people but we're too tired.

I should send them outside. Shouldn't I? We have a big backyard with plenty of fun diversions. There are even chickens out there! They could sit and watch those dumb birds for literal minutes before getting bored. MINUTES I tell you! But a few quiet minutes for a summertime mama with all of her baby birds in the nest all the dang time is like gasoline for my husband's '97 suburban: critical, but gone in a flash.

Plus, outside in the fires of Mordor called "summer in the south", my melted offspring don't last too long. 

My three year old little boy, a curious mix of cuddler and battering ram, greeted me this morning with a bright "Good morning Mama!" And like many a failed pull-up, I just couldn't rise up to match his enthusiasm. It's true that I had yet to consume my caffeinated manna from heaven (plain old drip coffee) and I'm dealing with an annoying case of mastitis, but why couldn't I smile at him like he smiled at me?

I am just...weary.

This job of caring for little ones is so intense. It's intensely awesome and joyful, it's intensely taxing and tiring. When the hot, hot sun starts on it's course in the morning until it crosses the sky and lands somewhere in the west, my name, "Mama", is uttered, demanded, wailed, whispered, and laughed hundreds of times. Sometimes it feels like an embrace. Sometimes I can feel my shoulders dip under the weight of it.

Every day is a marathon, and most I greet with enthusiasm. Let's do this! Let's have an awesome day! I mean, I took all four to the beach by myself for five days (though my sister was there with her daughter and that was helpful). I am not afraid of getting out with them, going on adventures, and making memories. But that doesn't mean that I don't get depleted. That the energy stores don't dry out. That I don't need, require, rest from the noise and the demands. The packing and unpacking, thinking ahead and planning, arranging playdates and fun outings, the feeding feeding feeding cooking preparing feeding cleaning up feeding grocery shopping cooking meal planning FEEDING.

Why don't children ever take a day off from eating? God should have programmed that in.

If you are weary, like I am, just know that you are not alone. There isn't a cure for this. Well, there is and it's called SCHOOL but apparently teachers need breaks too, so, we must have patience. In the mean time we must request help and breaks, take mental health days, rest when we can, relax about screen time, lower all of those damn expectations that we place on ourselves and just lay on the couch.

Mama, you can do this. I just screamed at my kids to "STOP MAKING ALL OF THE NOISE!!!!" so, I'm with you. Down in those sweaty, humid trenches. Let's help each other.

Summer is beautiful and hard.
Be kind to yourself today.