Frantic and Frenetic

My husband is a crazy man. I say that with all due love and compassion, but I also say this:

I am very tired.

At the end of the school year, he found that he was being moved from his preferred position as an elementary instrumental music teacher to the open position of high school instrumental music teacher. The "elder statesman," as it were, retired this year, and with the economic crisis in Pennsylvania, the district did not hire to fill the empty job. They just rearranged all the existing music teachers.

So, now he has also signed up to be the high school band director (because really, he is the only one who can and should), in addition to the million other things he does.

What does all this mean? The summer has been anything but relaxing. It has been a frenetic spree of road trips and household projects and summer lessons and phone calls and meetings and a million other things.

Granted, the man I married has no rest in his soul. He can't sit for much longer than two minutes before he's bored and antsy. I know this and accept this about him.

But I can't keep up the current pace for much longer. He's like an ant under the glare of a giant magnifying glass, his movements frantic and frenetic as he darts around with no direction and no plan other than to just go and move.

I get it. He's trying to squeeze in as much summer vacation as he can. And it's been great to get out so much and do so much (and take so many pictures).

But I need a break. I can't keep up with him and our little guy and the household chores.

And I definitely am not getting to do anything that I want to do just for myself.

Sigh.

(Happy place. Happy place.)