Fumes

The dining table is littered with binders, assignment sheets, pens and pencils. Its 8:30pm and I am sitting on the longer side of the oval table, my son directly opposite me. As I work on some reports remotely, I hear faint grunts and ughs emanating from across the table. I glance over my computer and over the three inch textbook leaning against a lucite picture stand to see my son, head in hand, twirling his pencil with what seems like his last bit of energy.. "I have so many to finish..." trickles out of his mouth. "Just focus on one at a time, then the next..." I suggest. A few minutes pass and more sighs and huffs. "Why don't you just go to bed and finish in the morning." I advise. He slowly rises out of his seat and says goodnight. "Goodnight..." I reply. 


A few minutes later I get up to and pass by my son's room and notice the light still on. I turn and enter his room and see him on his computer, checking out a sports video. "Hey I thought you too tired to do your homework?" I say sternly. "I am going to bed now.." He bites back, gets up, walks over to his bed, and in one motion, pulls up the blanket and jumps in the bed before the blanket can land on him. I turn towards the door and also use a single motion to flip off the light and close the door behind me. 


I guess we are both running on fumes.