Shockingly, Not About Flip Flops

"You've got too many shoes. And look, half of them are flip flops. How many pairs of flip flops can you wear at once?"

"I'm not answering that."

"I bet you could wear one pair each day all summer and not repeat once."

"I bet not."


"I'm not sure I've seen you without them, actually. Do you sleep in flip flops?"

"No... but I'm not sure I sleep. I don't think I've slept all summer."

And just about all of me feels that.

I think it's important, with all this happiness talk lately, that I remind myself (if not, everyone else) how incredibly exhausted I am if I let myself stop long enough to think about it. Even when I try to sleep, I can't. There's so much to do, so much to worry about.

I know better than to think it's anything but a phase. A phase I've no doubt been in before. I think, apparently blinded by being happy and grateful, I've filled the plate a little too full. Maybe setting end of summer goals or already planning for next year has not served me well. Just because it seems like preparing doesn't mean you're prepared now. At least not prepared to deal with it.

A huge contributor to this feeling, I think, is having my nephew around. Not to say I'm with him constantly and not to say that his mother isn't infinitely better at washing the dishes, talking on the phone, and pulling his hands out of the electrical outlets all at once, because she is, but I feel like after a lifetime of no one ever having really tried, this kid is kicking my ass. (And mom, when you read that I typed "ass" on my blog, just remember it took you a year and a half to start reading this and if ass is the worse thing you see from here on out consider yourself lucky. Might I suggest you never go into the archives.) Since my sister and her child, The One Whom Shall Never Need Caffeine, arrived, I've been able to see them every day. Yes, this is odd in itself because there are other things I should be doing every day that I can't manage but when it comes to rolling around in the grass or throwing a metal bowl against the wall because it makes that hilarious noise EVERY TIME, well I have no problem finding time for that.

Sometimes my "auntily duties" consist of nothing more than turning on the radio (kid loves to dance and sing) while other times, they're decidedly more challenging like pushing fifty pounds of kid and jogger stroller up a hill. Or wiping his face, an act in which my jaw is usually on the floor because his head can turn 360 degrees without moving his body. The entire time, no matter what we're doing, I'm having a great time. Thrilled with the concept of being part of his life and him mine, all the while basking in the glow of the idea that I get to give him back.

Which I do. Usually.

Then I leave, drive home or wherever, and generally hit a wall. Suddenly, I feel like I've run a marathon and instead of being allowed to recover, rehydrate and celebrate, I have to go back to normal life. I have to walk the dog and fold laundry when all I really want to do is collapse. And drink. Each time, the same thought comes to mind: How do parents do it?

I honestly do not know. Perhaps you adapt? I've heard some mothers say "the energy just comes to you." I cannot imagine, and I have quite the imagination.

The best conclusion I've got, the nearest I can tell, is that you are motivated. Something, be it the cuteness or the automatic sense of parental responsibility, or nap time, must keep you going.
I might be biased, but I think that cuteness factor would be huge for me.