i'm the sort of person that requires a solid eight hours of sleep. at seven hours i'm functional, six and i'm pretty much channeling attila the hun.
sunday, after a weeklong string of late nights, i was bleary and headachey and exhibiting a remarkably low tolerance for anything that breathed out of place. the littles were begging for the park with the spinning thing, and i, from my perch at the computer, kept saying no, i have this whole list of things to do and i wish we could because it's gorgeous outside but i just don't have time to do the park and all this too.
my list went something like
back up images
except it was longer and looked hairier at the time.
but somewhere in the nether regions of my sleep-deprived frontal lobe, i realized i'd left off the most pivotal items: play with your kids. listen to their happy chatter. memorize these small faces because they'll never again look exactly as they do today.
we went to the park.
true, i was pretty much straight out of a tissot entitled Snippy Mom At Park With Four Kids, but i think they had a nice time in spite of me. they had the sky, luminous and unwrinkled, the soft rush of the river, the light refracting off the water to shimmer on the undersides of poplar leaves.
we spread dinner on old blankets and watched the ducks squabble and dive. the boys collected an assortment of sticks and leaves. too soon, we packed up and headed home for baths and pajamas and sleep.
i'm far from the perfect parent, but it's nice to know there was that one time when i chose right. i'm far from the perfect parent, but i've made a concerted effort to get to bed earlier this week. i'm far from the perfect parent, but i am learning.
and my kids haven't given up on me yet.
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