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A couple of months ago, I wrote:

Today, I overheard a co-worker telling a real estate agent that she is in the process of getting a separation.  She has two boys and one is only 7 months old.  It made me feel sad for her but almost relieved.  Of course I don’t know the particulars, but I was relieved to know that someone else was finding marriage and children tough.  Now that I’ve written that down I feel pretty shallow.   But, I’m just being honest.  I get all wound up sometimes when people seem to be going along all pretty and pink.

In fact, I can hardly stomach couples with two (or more) kids.

Especially if they’re smiling.

Then I wrote a little P.S. ~

(To those of you managing with multiples, I hope I did not offend.  But right now you just happen to be up there with women who maintain a size 4, eat doughnuts, and refuse to exercise.  If you are a size four, and you have three kids, and you eat doughnuts, and you’re still married, you best stay out of my way…)

Apparently, I was offensive.  But, that’s beside the point.

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The boys are both in bed and it’s not even 9 o’clock.  And instead of playing silly games or watching mindless riff-raff, I am here with you dear reader. 

Don’t you feel special?!?

So this going to bed thing.  It’s quite divine.  In fact, I am, yet again, celebrating the silence.  This time I’m trying a coffee laced with dark rum.  It’s pretty disgusting.  But if it makes me feel warm and fuzzy and all happy to be alive then I’ll try it. 

I should state that I do celebrate without the use of alcohol.  On occasion.

So, this beddie bye thing.

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I’m just coming off of a seven hour cleaning high.  And, ahhhh, I needed that.  I’m only working 1/2 days now and Silas took an extra long nap and somehow I got my momentum going and then Bam! for the first time in, uh, six months, I feel like I have a home again!  Teaching full time and parenting full time is no easy task.  Tack on a giant remodeling project that you did not consent to and it’s, well, hell actually.

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I know that in earlier posts I admitted to constantly comparing Silas to other babies. Generally fictitious babes or those in memoirs, like Sam in Operating Instructions. But, you see, at that time I was only speaking in jest. Well, mostly. Of course, I thought of Silas as the Supreme Being of all Babes. But, still, I think I managed to keep my competitiveness to a minimum. Until now. This damned crawling business is starting to make me feel like one of those child pageant moms and I want Silas to have the best baton twirling act… or else! It’s just that all the other parents are just so damn smug.

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So, I finally picked up Anne Lamott’s Operating Instructions.

Really, I should clarify that statement. I didn’t just pick the book up. I’d done that many times before– sometimes pressing the cover to my forehead hoping to ingest some of its unknown wisdom.

No, this time I actually picked up the book and read it.

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