OK, I’ll admit it: I’m burnt out. Fried. Cooked. Put a fork in me; I’m done.
Jayna has been waking us up every handful of minutes for at least the past couple weeks, and she topped yesterday’s 4:37 a.m. wake-up call with today’s 4:22 a.m. wake-up call.
When she’s well rested and feeling 100%, she screams and cries frequently throughout the day. When she’s exhausted and feeling less than 100%, she SCREAMS AND CRIES FREQUENTLY THROUGHOUT THE DAY … and as my sleep deprivation increases, my ability to deal with her shenanigans exponentially decreases, to the umpteenth power. I am finding myself woefully incapable of handling the sonic axe that splits my skull in two every time she begins her banshee wail.
Meanwhile, Zan frequently is impersonating a rebellious 12-year-old … which sucks, because I was kinda hoping we could wait the full six-or-so years between now and his actual 12th birthday before we had to start dealing with that nonsense.
Look, clearly, writing a fantasy scenario in which I intimidate my children by way of surgically implanted, knife-like claws is probably a dead giveaway that I could use a little escape with my lovely bride … but a full-blown vacation sans kids is highly unlikely to occur again this decade.
Alcoholism is tempting, but I hear there are quite a few items in the “cons” column for that particular affliction, so I’ll pass.
Would it be wrong to put them in dog crates for 24 hours so that Wonder Woman and I can spend a night alone in Boston?
Oh, the photo? It’s to remind me of how lucky I am to have such a beautiful, healthy little family … you know, so that I don’t throw all my shit in a duffle bag and run from the house screaming.