I’m pretty tired, after a long trip back from Scotland. When it comes to traveling with kids and making sure they get enough outdoor time while doing it, I’ll write on that later. For now, I’m going to cheat and just copy an Instagram post I put up today. If you follow me there, no need to read. I promise to write a real post again soon!

It’s been a hard week with these crazies. Smalls was sick the day before we flew home. One day of travel turned into two. Red and his dad were sick when we got back. Everone’s jet-lagged and no one’s getting much sleep. I am running on coffee vapors.

We are through that hard time with a baby and a toddler in the house, when sleep was broken and tantrums were a daily occurrence. But suddenly we are back in that mode this week, and I’d forgotten how hard it is. At the airport, as were in line for a hotel allocation after being delayed and missing our connecting flight home, the boys were tired and anxious and acting out. They’d lined up, sat still, stayed quiet for hours already, and now that promise of their own beds and home sweet home was being ripped away, and they were struggling. As I sat with them while my husband dealt with the details, giggling over silly stories and eating our millionth candies of the day, a lady looked over as she walked past and said ‘you’re doing a fantastic job right now, you’re a great mom.’ And I almost burst out crying from exhaustion, and because I hadn’t really noticed, I was just focused on getting the kids through it.

It still feels like that today, four days later. I think I have nothing left for the shenanigans, and then one of the kids does something so ridiculous that I can’t interpret it as anything other than a cry for help. They are literally sick and tired of this transition back to normal. So I dig in, I read the ‘patience’ stamped into my bracelet, I think of that woman in the airport, and I find that last shred of patience I didn’t realize was there.