More Than Me

I'm always tired, it seems.
On the go non-stop- but always tired.

And then I started thinking:

As I lay in bed, my little wheels are already turning:

Did Lance make the coffee?
No.
Should I make coffe.
Na.
Better get up.
Need to get the girls moving.
Go downstairs.
Go upstairs.
Get dressed.
Do my hair.
Do my make-up.
Are they up?
Is Peanut up here eating yet?
Do I hear Punky down there?
Make my lunch.
Eat my cereal.
Do I have my blood meter?
Punky- Did you take your pill?
Did you take your nasal inhaler?
Do you have lunch money? ID?
Is your bed made?
Peanut- Hair? Teeth? Shoes? Flute? Deoderant? Bed?
What time is it?
Dishwasher is running.
Washer is going.
Clothes are hung and the dryer is running.
Kiss Lance.
Out the door.
Feed the dog!
No.
When we get home.
Back out.
Close the garage door.
All in 45 minutes.
Sigh.
Off to work.
...

Yeah. We get a little tired.
And they wonder why we drink.
Just kidding.