TITLE: Nothing Left? By Michelle Tant 06/22/09 |
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At the end of the day you can find me sat on my sofa, a child on each knee, reading a story while desperately trying to stay awake. I am exhausted in a way that only a person who has answered questions on the meaning of life, why the sky is blue and whether we can send his new brother 'back' all day, since dawn, can be. A talk show host has nothing on my three year old.
Questions are punctuated by the open beaks of my offspring, and my offerings are alternately dismissed or gulped down with apparently no rhyme or reason. I defy even the best chef in the world to consistently get a toddler to eat.
I have admirably concealed my horror at the blob of Play-doh mashed into my carpet when faced with the distraught face of my son as he realizes that his masterpiece, the greatest blue monster ever is now a pancake under Mummys shoe. I not so admirably dealt with the milk poured with wild abandon into the toybox and then spent an hour getting soaked as we washed the toys in a tub in the garden to make up for my cross words.
So here I am, reading the story of David and Goliath, trying to explain that David wasn’t being a naughty boy when he threw a stone at Goliaths head. And I am tired, so tired. There is nothing left in me to give and then they both turn to me as I finish the story and snuggle in for a hug and I am full again, maybe I was never empty in the first place.
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