Pooped

I have been having fun since school let out at the end of May.  So much fun in fact that I am totally pooped! 

Dictionary.com defines the adjective pooped as an informal word meaning fatigued, exhausted. 

In the last seven weeks I have been wading off to swim team practice in the mornings and swim meets two evenings a week armed with towels and chairs and snacks and sunscreen.  I arranged and attended a pizza pool party for my oldest daughter to celebrate turning twelve.  A mermaid themed waterpark bash was the wish of my other daughter to turn six in splashy style so I made that happen, too.  To mark my son’s tenth birthday, I tromped through the woods masked, sweaty and armed with a paintball air gun shooting and being shot at with my son and his friends.  My 14^th wedding anniversary arrived in the mix, too, as did a couple of potluck dinners and out of town guests.  We have been to the state museum, friends’ houses, and bi-weekly karate classes.  I have tried to maintain a commitment to regular yoga practice while also working to build the ability to teach yoga.  The beautiful South Carolina coast and the Blue Ridge Mountains called my family to come for visits.  How blessed am I to have all these wonderful opportunities?  But, all of these delightful events required planning and execution.

Let it not be misinterpreted, I am not complaining.  Just noticing.  Noticing how much rest my body would like.  Noticing how we can overextend ourselves even with positive behaviors.  Noticing how my six year old daughter slept 14 hours last night. 

This household is headed for some rest.  Next on the agenda is, well, nothing.  I’m shooting for not one event this week so we can hunker down and avoid the encroaching heat.  It is time for us to find some stillness.  Maybe we can get to playing some of the great games garnered as birthday presents.  Maybe we can watch my rainbow colored thigh welt, courtesy of paintball, heal.  Maybe we can look over the photos of the fun things we have done.  Maybe we can allow my dear, sweet baby child an age-appropriate bedtime.  Maybe we can eat tomato pie and cucumber salad from the garden-fresh produce arriving in abundance.  We might slurp popsicles on the fan-cooled porch and tell the stories we’ve written as we worked our way toward being pooped by the middle of July.

Dog-tired

piled people puppies pooped, tuckered

plum spent of fun ideas, doings decadent

delicious desserts, dainty dinner dresses

blue bruises, red ribbons, birthday cakes

drip castles, cucumber vines, campfires

paintball, picnics, the pool to cool bathe

splash bodies tanned calf brown soft

youth under aging palms rubbed safe

beneath brother sun so much fun begun

best arms of mother Juno first knowing

as August hits the hot will make us rest.