There are days when I sink into bed at nine o'clock and I am longing for nothing but rest. Totally quiet!
Do not cut or cut apples or milk. Just five minutes in peace, a thought to finish, without I jump up and wipe someone or the must to stop his brother's head with something hard.
Only when one has children does one realize how relaxing can be boredom.
Every now and then I am invited to a reportage trip to write a nice travel story about it afterwards. This is great, because I firstly not only come to places that I would otherwise probably never have seen, secondly, I can still earn money with this great experience and thirdly have a few days for me.
It is stupid, however, that this theory is, in practice, mostly a total fallacy.
So, point one and two are scribed, but as for point three, it hurts with me every time I get out of the car at the airport. On my last trip even with the suitcase.
While I just stuff my clothes in the suitcase, I slowly build up an emptiness that is otherwise filled by the laughter and screaming of my children.
As soon as I get out of the house, she gets bigger and bigger. I have childhood ailment.
As much as I would like to have a regular rest, she will be overwhelmed as soon as she enters and I know she will not dissolve so quickly.
This goes so far that I smell manic all the toddlers who run me over the way. For every suitable or unfortunately also inappropriate opportunity I give funny (as I find) children's stories to the best.
So far, all of my fellow travelers must have been very polite people and let themselves be patiently drunk by me.
To put it briefly: I would love to be a self-sufficient, independent man again on some days, so I feel inadequate when I get the opportunity to be one.
All the things to see makes no fun without my family.
It feels like I'm a puzzle of which some parts have been mummified. It is all the more beautiful when I can finally put them together after a few days.
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