Some days are nothing short of exhausting. When the kids have woken throughout the night, resulting in less than cheerful attitudes throughout the day.
Some days I feel as if I must be wearing a black dress with a white apron, because everyone seems to thinks I'm only there to serve them.
Some days I'm all mommed out. And though my love for them is unfailing, what I think I want is a little break.
A break from them.
Jon offers to take them to the beach, so they can run around like little beasts, and for that I'm so grateful, but something in me usually seems to want to go too.
This is my break time - my chance at a moment of silence, but still, I go.
And I realize, it's not them that I need a break from.
It's life.
It's routine.
It's home.
And it's not just me. They need it too.
They need this time to run like little beasts when the sun's harsh heat has begun to fade, and the gentle breeze of the ocean allows them to use up the energy that's been trying to press through the wrong outlets all day.
They need to see their parents, walking hand in hand in the evening light, watching them as they race up and down the sand and splash in the water.
Some days I don't go. Some days do I choose to stay home and let them have their beastly boy time.
But on those days when I end up joining their adventure, I never seem to regret it.
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