I always, always, always stay up too late on that last night before going back to work. It doesn’t matter if I’ve been in a home haze for two days or twelve, I find myself clinging desperately to each minute I can. Despite knowing that those next mornings will be haggard and hectic, I cling.
Cling to the few quiet moments after my daughter and husband go to sleep.
Cling to the cuddly cat that inevitably plants herself in my lap because while I am staging a sleep strike, it IS her bedtime.
Cling to the last visages on the tv screen that are not animated.
Cling to the knowing that the only people I can manage to disappoint are the ones that will love me despite it.
Cling to the comfy clothes that define most of my carefree hours.
Cling to that carefree attitude that I manage to maintain and yet gets yanked from my grasp during the week-long crunch.
Cling to the