Saint Dirty Face

Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest.

But nooo… these kids had other plans.

“I need this.”

“I need that.”

MF.

Then it’s:

“Clean this.”

“Clean that.”

Finally I sit down—barely warm the chair—

“What’s for dinner?”

Grrrr.

At this rate the only rest I’ll get is when I finally collapse in bed…

just to wake up and go straight back to the grind.

A Sunday that feels like a Monday with a mask on.

No rest for the wicked… or the parents.

I love my clan—don’t get me wrong.

But some Sundays feel like the universe runs a boot-camp for parents.

You dream of naps, you get “clean this, fix that, feed us.”

You reach for peace, but it’s hiding behind a pile of dirty laundry.

So here’s my toast to all the tired rebels out there:

We’ll rest when the house is quiet, the kids are grown,

and Monday can’t find us.

Until then, we grind.

We laugh.

We curse under our breath.

And we keep the cracked halo crooked but standing.

Stay Dirty. Stay Human™.

— SDF