Some days I am bone dry.

Even an accidental Spiderman cup of juice flying at my lap from across the table can’t move me. I am un-rested mother, and that descriptor shakes a stick at my perspective on sexy and fun and life and light – on the gratitude that keeps my heart singing.

I get caught under clouds of exhaustion, the darkness rolled in for a visit, and I wait in the silence for it all to burst, for the rain to soak me down and relieve my spirit.

But it’s dry, and my soul feels like it needs a nap. Wake me up when this is over.

When I hit these days, I prescribe to myself a few remedies: memory verses, prayers, no television, more church, and usually I exhaust myself further before something breaks, like a thunder clap.

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