The other morning I was half-awake when I started to think. Don’t laugh. I usually do my best thinking when I’m only half-awake.(Or half-asleep, depending on whether you are of a positive or negative persuasion.) You see when I’m only half-awake I’m not fettered by the usual cumbersome constraints which hold back most people, such as common logic, good sense, or proper worries about what other people will think. But, as my wife will attest, I’m not always only half-awake, some times I’m fully not awake at all, like when we’re having a conversation. Nonetheless, let me get back to my idea.You see, in my mind, I started adding up the ages of my children and realized that the number of years I’ve spent raising each one of those blessed bundles of blithering, bothersome, er I mean joy, add up to way over my age. Let me give you an example. The first two are over eighteen, but to be fair, I only used eighteen years, even though they’ve both left home, promising to never return on many occasions. So then I added up the years of my youngest two, which when added to the 36 years of the older two equals 56 years. Which is at least ten more years than I’ve lived.So right away, if you’re half-awake like me you can tell that there is a problem here. The number of years I’ve raised my kids doesn’t just not equal the number of years I’ve lived, it’s more than the number of years I’ve lived.Well, while I pondering this imbalance of child rearing years ratio compared to my actual age it dawned on me. This is the reason. This is the answer. This is why. Why what you may ask? And certainly you may, I mean who am I to stop you. But before you do let me point out that the answer is coming up.Suddenly, in life, I no longer feel like working that extra shift. I no longer feel like volunteering to chaperone the all night after-prom party. I no longer feel like staying up to watch the news, just to see if it’s really going to rain tomorrow. You see, since I’ve overspent myself in child rearing I’m now too tuckered to take an active interest in life.What could be the magical potion to remedy my dilemma? I figured that out whilst I was pretending to listen to my wife tell me why we should plant flowers around the house this spring. She thought I was nodding in agreement, but alas, I was nodding off. Not to be uncooperative, mind you. Oh, no, certainly not! No, I was trying to figure out what would correct this imbalance of child raising years ratio compared to my actual age.So, while my wife was waxing eloquently on the dahlias an idea was blooming in the depths of my closed mind. It was this. One of these days, after the kids have all left home and left for good, I’ll begin to balance out the negative side of that ratio. Yup, when we were discussing a rose bush verses a lilac bush it suddenly made sense. When I turn 72 my physical years will equal the number of years I spent raising kids. Aha! Then I will be a spry man once again. And if this doesn’t make any sense, just sleep on it and it will.