It was the night of Super Bowl LI.
I had slept about 5 hours the night before, thanks to an incredible head cold. Jasper and Sawyer hadn’t napped great all day, and Patrick and I were both exhausted.
It was all we could do to make it to 7pm, when both boys were in bed.
Finally, we cuddled up on the couch and set up our snacks for the BIG GAME.
Tom Brady, the GOAT, was doing his best to lead the Patriots to victory. Commercials about America’s immigrant history tried to tug at heartstrings.
I could barely keep my eyes open.
Finally, at 7:36, I headed to bed.
I awoke 10 hours later to learn that I had missed the greatest game in New England’s history.
It’s official. I’m a lame, exhausted mom. Don’t hate me, Tom.