On Being Tired

My sweet Anna Claire,

I adore you, I do. But when you're tired, you're a hot mess, girl. And you find this incredibly exhausting way of balancing misery and denial that makes every inch of your sweet little scrunch into the most contrary countenance I've ever seen. 

Today was one of those days I'll remember forever. And when I think back on today, I won't smile with fondness. No. I will wonder how I got through it all and managed to keep my sanity. I had a 3:00  phone conference today while sitting in the carpool picking up your brother from school. 

"I don't want to! I don't want to!" you screamed. 

"You don't want to what?" I asked back in I'm sure the sweetest, motherly voice, checking my mute button to ensure I wouldn't interrupt what I'm sure was a most fruitful meeting. 

"I don't want to sit. I don't want to sit. I don't want to!" You screamed over and over again in a voice that I'm sure rocked neighboring cars. 

"I know, Ann, I know. You hate sitting in the car. You hate it. I know. I'm so sorry. But Sam will come out soon." 

Look, I knew you were tired and I knew the moaning and wailing might end if you'd just let yourself sleep. But remember that nagging case of denial? You held on, tightly, my dear. 

In my left ear, my manager was talking about really important things: efficacy, time-management, and focus. And then the unthinkable occurred. Did he just ask me a question? Did he say my name, or someone else's? I began begging like I was in a high school Spanish class - please be calling on some else. Please call on someone else. 

"Shari, are you there?" The team leader'd called on me while you were screeching on about not being tired. Because at this point, you were really nearing acceptance to your sleepy fate. I had to un-mute. I had to answer the question like a professional while trapped in a metal box with a crazy, not-tired banshee. 

"I'm here, Jim. I'm here." I hoped he'd heard over your roars and muted myself again. 

"I was wondering if you'd share a bit about (SCREAMING) with the rest of us, especially since you (SCREAMING) about this just the other day." 

Now it really was like high school Spanish class. 

I could've (and probably should have) said that I couldn't talk just then and needed to deal with the car-jacking three-year-old in the back seat, but that'd mean I couldn't do both, you know? That I couldn't handle my worlds colliding. So, I un-muted my line, ready thread buzz words together and make a final answer. 

And then you pulled the trump card. Yes. You are only three, Anna. And I don't believe that you yet wield spite, but today you really seemed to know what you were doing. 

Because just as I hit the button, you screamed in a voice I can only describe as vengeful:

"I HAVE TO GO PEE PEE RIGHT NOW." If the car seat's safety straps weren't holding you back I think you'd have pummelled me into the steering wheel. 

And then, the prayed-for but not at all anticipated happened. Silence. Complete and utter silence. From you, from me, from my call. Your eyes twinkled and the sides of your mouth curved into a wry smile. 

The call ended pretty shortly thereafter. And you? You wailed through half an hour of bumper-to-bumper traffic while your brother hummed Star Wars melodies to keep himself occupied. 

Here's the thing, Anna: being tired sucks. When you're three, when you're thirty: it doesn't matter. Tired pulls you in ten different directions, pleading with you to recognize the inevitable and give in. And here's the thing: tired always wins. It does. But tired isn't the enemy, sweetheart. Tired is a constant and faithful friend. It beckons you to relent and rest. And when you do, dear, you find yourself grateful and at peace. 

You and I are quite the same, you know. We both live in a sort of denial. We think we can do so much without skipping a beat or missing a mark. But we both end up losing. And we miss out on so much peace.