Writing When You’re Tired

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I keep telling myself I’m going to write more when I’m not so tired. I’ll get back to blogging regularly any day now, like probably tomorrow-ish.

But I just keep waking up tired. I thought you were supposed to wake up rested? Nope–tired. And then I get tired-er and then I get “I’m not doing anything else but watching Netflix and glaring at people” from about 7pm until bed. So that’s fun.

I’ve been waiting for that energy boost I remember getting when I was expecting my son. That glorious part of pregnancy where you stop feeling miserable and hateful all the time and instead want to clean and decorate all the things. Nope. I just want a nap. And coffee. I want coffee while I nap.

I blame by two-year old son. I blame my husband. I blame you. It’s everyone’s fault I’m so tired. You should be nicer. I could write more if you were nicer to me.

You see the quality material I pull out of my mind palace when fatigued? Amazing stuff, I know.

I’m just excited if I remember why I came upstairs or if I get to sleep through the night without my son waking up to tell–no, scream–that he needs more juice or that there’s a microscopic piece of dirt on one of his favorite toys that he somehow noticed in a dark room while sleeping.

But I’ll be fine. I’m sure I’ll be rested tomorrow. I’ll probably write a book or something…tomorrow-ish.

Definitely any day now for sure.

Home School Moms: The Original Hipsters

I’ve had a bit of a revelation about my parents, all of our parents actually: Are you ready? They were cool before we even knew what cool was.

Actually, I’m not sure, but I think they might have invented cool.

All you have to do is flip through a few old photographs of your mom and dad when they were young and the truth comes bleeding off the page—they were the original hipsters and we but humble clones.

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{My mom being all hip and awesome without even trying}

You know how they say the older you get the smarter your parents get? They aren’t kidding. My parents are practically a couple of geniuses at this point in my life and I’m starting to wish I had occasionally listened to them at some point prior to yesterday.

My mom for instance, was so hip and cool and ahead of her time that my mind is actually blown when I stop and think about it.

She raised us in the country close to nature and let us grow up free-range. She had a garden. And home schooled. And surrounded us with books. And cooked from scratch…all back when people were telling her she was crazy instead of writing blog posts about this being some kind of ideal.

Scan0001{My mom and two oldest brothers}

And my dad totally had a ‘stache from like 1970 to 1997 before moustaches had overrun the whole entire world and were “tastefully” {cough} plastered on everything. He loved photography and had a black room set up in the house to develop his own film. No Instagram filters needed.

He published his own work from home like some kind of indie artist before “indie artist” was even a thing, owned his own bookstore for a while, and sold and collected vintage beer cans for a while too {and is probably not pleased at all right now that I’m putting any of this on the internet because he’s way too cool for that}. Also, he still has way better taste in music than me—which is annoying.

So you know what I was doing while my hip parents were gardening and developing their own photography?

I was rolling my eyes.

Because my parents were just soooooo weird and annoying and I wanted to go to a “real” school and eat Happy Meals and live closer to civilization instead of being tortured by these crazy people who obviously.didn’t.know.anything.

And you know what everyone my age is now doing? Everything my parents did back when they obviously didn’t know anything.

I stand corrected.

My parents are awesome. They know everything.

At least my kids will recognize right away that I am the embodiment of wisdom and awesomeness and won’t roll their eyes for 28 years like I did. What a relief.