After a full day of teenage angst, sibling squabbles, and endless questions from a curious 11-year-old, peace has finally descended on my home.
It’s glorious.
All I can hear is the hum of the air conditioner and the occasional creaks of a house that is well used and well loved
This is the time that dreams are made of.
Or more accurately, this is the time I should actually be dreaming. Everyone else in my house is sound asleep.
But not me.
It’s not that I can’t use the sleep. I spend most of my days in an exhausted stupor. I have been known to doze off while standing with a cup of coffee in my hands.