I’m listening to Bear talk to himself in the boys’ bedroom. Ithink Butter fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.
I’m drinking a hefty glass of wine because it was one of THOSE nights when it comes to parenting.
While I’m thrilled M has a job he seems to love, I’m once again loathing being a restaurant widow. Don’t get me wrong, it’s fantastic that he gets to spend his mornings and most of the day with the boys, but sometimes all Mama wants to do when she gets home is relax and turn off the whole Adult aspect of her personality.
I keep chanting to myself that they only way out is through. [And a whole lot of prayer. Trust me, it’s better than it was a few weeks ago.] [Also, that’s not in relation to M working.]
I’m desperately looking forward to this weekend.
I want to vague blog so much, but I don’t think I can without getting into too much trouble. Argh. I just . . . am anticipating another letter like the one I got last Monday that was a royal punch to the gut. I’m over those letters, just an FYI.
I’m going to run a bath for myself and hopefully be asleep before nine. I don’t even care.