I Believe in Being Tired

The other day I got home from work, tired and just wanted to eat a meal in peace.  I wanted the boys to happily sit down and enjoy dinner and to allow me twenty minutes to relax.  But it never happens that way.  I am always eating a meal while wrangling boys.  On this particular day, I sat down to eat and heard a commotion in the den of my mother and father’s house.  I heard the front door open and close.  Ryder then came running into the room wanting my mother’s grabber (you know, those mechanical arms meant to get stuff off shelves too high to reach).  It was followed by wild giggling from mom and dad’s room. When I went to check out what was happening, I saw two pairs of legs showing from under the bed.  I realized Sawyer had let in the neighbor’s cat and the boys were excitedly trying to fetch it from under the bed…with a mechanical grabber.  This was just a ten minute portion of a night of rambunctious boy behavior.  Needless to say, I did not get a relaxing meal.   

I never knew what tired felt like until I had children.  Sure, I had had plenty of tiring experiences in my life pre-kids, but none that couldn’t be fixed with a long nap and a good night of sound sleep.  I was 27 when Ryder, my oldest son, was born.  Literally, from the moment he was born, I was tired.  Labor was exhausting, but paled in comparison to how exhausting a newborn baby was.  I eventually got into the groove of motherhood, but the demands of caring for a growing baby who depended on me for everything certainly was draining at times.  As he grew, the demands of parenting grew.  He became mobile and active, constantly keeping me on my feet.  Eventually, my sweet baby grew into an even more active and tiring little boy.  That active little boy was joined by my second son, Sawyer, in 2011.  Sawyer started off as a quiet, easy going infant, but it didn’t taken him long to catch up with his brother and become a handful as well.

            Today, Ryder is 5 and a half and Sawyer is a month away from turning 3.  And me, I am as tired as ever. My boys are rambunctious, demanding; they are rough as cobs and stubborn as mules.  They never stop, ever. From the moment they get up to the moment they go to sleep, they are into something. They are famous for their shenanigans.  Just this week I found a pocket full of glass shards in Ryder’s jacket, to which he explained he had been playing glass factory in a ditch at school, and on Saturday, I walked into my kitchen to find him breaking every egg I had into a boiler pot and stirring it with a whisk.  Instead of looking guilty he asked for white powder stuff (flour) to add to his “cake.” The amount of messes I clean up with these two is endless.  

Ryder is my blonde haired Dennis the Menace.  He talks always.  He is inquisitive, independent, unfocused and when he truly sets his mind on something (like wanting a new character on a video game or a new Lego to play with), he will wear me down to a nub until the end result is one he is satisfied with. He is loud and forceful.  He can talk my ear off about practically anything.  And, as crazy as it sounds, I do not know how I would function without him being just the way he is. Don’t get me wrong, there are times (like, everyday) when I want him to stop, hush, sit down, and be still.  But the infinite moments of laughter, joy and hilarity he has brought into my life cannot be counted.   I can go from upset and frustrated to giggling and smiling with just one funny comment from my never ending provider of laughs. 

Sawyer, on the other hand, is physical.  If it is there, he can climb it. He is bossy and picky and can give looks that kill.  He is a ninja and a sword slinger and always has a handheld action figure with him. Despite being almost 3, he still requires me to rock him to sleep every night, and no matter how tired I am and how much I just want him to go to sleep, I still enjoy those nightly cuddles from my baby who is almost no longer a baby.  And at night, often, I do just want to go to sleep, and honestly, neither boy sleeps well; I joke I haven’t had REM sleep since the summer of 2008.  They keep me on the move all day, and half the time, they keep me up part of the night too.  With them, I am worn out, but without them, I can’t imagine how I would survive. 

My boys are my life, and my life is sometimes hectic and overwhelming and tiring. But I have decided that the tired I feel at the end of every day is worth it. I believe in being tired.  I believe in the moments when I think I am going to give up, but instead realize I have learned something about myself, about parenthood, about a love that knows no limits, no matter how exhausted that love is. I believe that the amount of work and effort I pour out of me and into my children will pay off in the long run when they grow into men who will realize just how much I loved them and how hard I fought to raise them.  It will be what they remember.  They may not know how hard it was at times or how frustrated I may have felt, or even how happy they made me or how funny they were, but they will know that I worked non-stop, tirelessly to be the best mother to them that I could possibly be.  And sure, I am not perfect.  I get mad and yell; I get annoyed and irritated too at times, but even in my most exhausting moments, I know I wouldn’t trade that feeling in for the world.  When I look at my sweet boys’ faces at night, as they sleep looking like chubby cherubs, I know that all of the hard work and all of the moments where I feel worn out are worth it to know that literally every ounce of my being is invested in being their mother, their caretaker, their playmate, their nurse and their friend.   Being tired has taught me more about love than any other feeling in the world.