For a one-year old little boy, overtired means running for hours and hours and hours on empty, refusing to nap and when you are finally put in the pack-n-play (do kids really play in those things?) for a nap, pulling the lamp off the dresser and onto your head so you end up hysterically screaming and with a big bump on your head.

For a 30-something daddy, overtired means lounging poolside and foolishly taking the monitor away from your wife after she has struggled to get your toddler to take a nap, then promptly falling asleep so when said toddler starts wailing at the top of his lungs, you don’t hear him, nor do your react.

For a 30-something mommy, overtired means flipping out when said daddy does not react to said toddler’s screaming and, after running inside and calming your toddler down, feeling remarkably sad that your poor little guy was alone, in a strange room, hurt and crying and crying.

For a family of three, overtired means writing off the first day of vacation and promising to start anew on Day 2.

And so we are. No longer overtired, we’re enjoying hanging out with our fellow vacationers, Conal is taking a long morning nap, Owen is resting and I just returned from a run.