So, I went. I retreated for a weekend. It was quiet and peaceful. I napped, went for long walks in the woods, did some writing and some knitting and ate quiet meals while reading my book. I successfully navigated the windy, dark island roads in the rain and found my destination. In some ways it wasn't quite as life-changing as I had hoped, but I'm not sure exactly what I was hoping for. It was definitely quiet and restful though, and worth it for that alone.
Now that I'm back and have had a night of interrupted sleep I feel short on patience again. Nothing makes me grumpy faster than trying to get that last hour of the night's sleep while a little person is scratching at the back of my neck with too-long fingernails. Somehow, I feel like I should have figured this all out during my weekend away. Why don't I have the magic formula now? The only thing I can think of to do is cut Bea's fingernails. Maybe the solution isn't any more profound than that - the best we can do is to be pragmatic and accept such life truths as the fact that parenting a two year old requires a massive amount of patience and frequent fingernail clipping.