Why do the evening hours feel like a ridiculously intricate dance that no one has taught you the steps for?
It all begins with a little quickstep. Fast and furious is the name of the game as you attempt to finish up the day, get food on the table, negotiate exhaustion fueled temper tantrums and attempt baths or some semblance of cleanliness.
Next up is the fox trot, an attempt at winding down interspersed with frenzy. Books! Music! Brushing teeth! Potty attempt number three!
And the finale, a Venetian waltz. This can go one of two ways, a singular beautiful decent into slumber or a hideous nightmare fraught with disjointed highs and lows. If the cadence isn’t just right, disaster soon follows. Those beguiling notes draw out a goodnight kiss and then cajole another story, just a tiny, little story you are assured. Only, soon you are met with new a assurances and more desperate pleas for more.
Live in hope, however because the tiny conductors eventually exhaust themselves and rest. All to begin again, leaving us slightly more exhausted but ready for the debut of a new performance with the dawn (literally) of a new day.
