A Little Space to Breathe
Most days I wake up tired, regardless of how much sleep I had the night before. The exhaustion follows me into sleep, and my brain wakes me early anyway. I wake up wondering if I will ever feel refreshed and ready to conquer the day — or if it will always be this steady state of exhaustion mixed with the reality of another chaotic morning.
There’s no time to dwell on it.
I make my rounds around the house — making sure the kids are up and getting ready for school, making sure the twins don’t miss the bus (again), checking on the oldest to see if today is going to be a “I don’t feel well” or “I’m too tired to drive” kind of day.
I check on my dad and my brother. Are they awake? Is one of them in the bathroom? Will that slow everyone down?
It’s important to note that the main house — where everyone except my aunt lives — has two bathrooms. One less than comfortably needed, but it’s an old house. The kids refuse to use the upstairs bathroom. Apparently it’s “dirty,” has a “terrible shower head,” and is “too small.” Dirty, in this case, means an older ceramic tub that isn’t sparkly white but is, in fact, clean — just worn with time.
My dad and brother have a bedroom on the first floor. Dad can’t climb the stairs, so five of the seven people in the house use the downstairs bathroom.
Teen boys spend an extraordinary amount of time getting ready. Showers that last longer than I can fathom. Grooming. Mirror-checking. Making sure not a single hair is out of place. Multiply that by three, add in two adults, and mornings are… lively.
Good days consist of one boy showering the night before, one getting up early, and Dad and my brother still in their rooms.
If all goes well, the twins catch the bus — usually because one has begged the bus driver to wait five more seconds for the other. I owe that wonderful woman much gratitude… and probably a few coffee gift cards.
Success also looks like my oldest pulling out of the driveway fifteen minutes early so he can stop for his donut and Sprite without being late to class. Apparently he’s been late to Lit one too many times. A note was sent home. We’ll add that to the exhaustion later.
Somewhere in all of this, I make sure the dogs get out. We have a nine-month-old puppy who can make it through the night, but it is imperative to get him outside immediately. The older dog meanders at his own pace.
By 7AM, the house is finally settled.
I can stop and have a cup of tea before heading to the shower — though this, too, requires strategy. I need to get in the bathroom after Dad wakes but before anyone else claims it. If not, I risk an unexpected guest. Dementia does not recognize boundaries. At this stage, words aren’t processed the way they were intended. “I’m in here” doesn’t always register.
If I’m lucky, I drink half the glass of tea.
Today, though, is a holiday. School vacation.
When I woke at 7, the boys were still asleep. My husband was still asleep. Dad and my brother were downstairs watching TV and drinking coffee. An early start for them.
It’s quiet.
As quiet as this house ever gets.
I am still tired — mentally and physically exhausted. But today, I can take a breath. Maybe I can read a few pages. Maybe I can put on an old DVD and let my mind rest for a bit.
Today is a good day. Or at least 7AM is a good day.
The house is quiet. No one is rushing. No one is calling my name. The chaos hasn’t found its footing yet.
I am still tired. That hasn’t changed. But the quiet reminds me that even in the middle of exhaustion, there are moments that steady us. Small pauses that don’t fix everything — but soften it.
Maybe that’s what makes a day good.
Not the absence of chaos.
Just the presence of a little space to breathe.
With love,
Margaelin
Because even the strongest hearts need somewhere to rest
Seen. Held. Understood.
