Superhero

My kids think I’m a superhero—and honestly, sometimes I believe it too.

Who else can open jars of peaches from Costco no one else can budge? Or magically fix a model car with Scotch tape and tooth picks? To them, I’m faster than a track and field sprinter, stronger than a WWE wrestler, and able to carry all the groceries in one trip.

But then… bedtime happens. My superpowers vanish. The night ends with negotiating with a 9-year-old about why they can’t stay up to watch the end of the football game. And don’t even get me started on the “one more minute” saga.

By the time they’re asleep, I’m less “Superman” and more “Super tired.”