I am tired.

It’s surprisingly hard for me to type that sentence, there by itself. I want to apologize for it, to follow it up by saying that I know my gripes are so small compared to real problems, to caveat by noting all the moments that I look at my children and marvel at the privilege of being their mom, of sharing my days with them.

There is all of that. But the truth is, I am tired.

Lina is going through another phase of difficult feedings for heaven knows what reason (my suspicion: the wind is blowing the wrong direction), Corin is fulfilling the prophetic musings we heard from friends for years about how much harder age three is than two (see this blog post for a brilliant snapshot of recent days), and the list goes on with a lot of normal, everyday stuff that just adds up to a tired me, needing a break.

Which is why I am taking one.

This Sunday, Jon will be handling all parenting responsibilities, and I have glorious plans for sleeping in, a pedicure, shopping and whatever else happens to strike my fancy. All of this I will be doing alone. Gloriously, entirely alone. Me with my thoughts and an entire day of freedom.

Don’t mind me. I’m just doing a little giddy dance over here.