A Timeline for Perfection

2:45 pm: My bestie Ali(ce) is able to get online for the first time in a week, and we chat about my upcoming visit. I missed her.

3 pm: I begin to read about practical ways busy parents can build "sensory diets" for children with sensory processing issues....I have an "aHA" moment and feel recommitted and hopeful.

4:30 pm: Little Bug's PT tells me out of the blue she is putting in an order for arch support and graduating Little Bug from his bulky, cumbersome leg braces. We talk at length about foot muscles and how my kid is rocking them. Hello, totally unexpected and awesome upcoming quality-of-life upgrade!

5 pm: I call my mom because Appa is on a plane. I literally MUST tell someone this news. She is thrilled.

5:30 pm: I actually "cook" dinner at home. I pat myself on the back for being such a "with it" mama.

6 pm: Little Bug decides today would be a good day to walk up the stairs by himself (while holding onto the railing and shocking his mother speechless). We practice approx. 10 times with mama spotting, but not needing to actually help.

6:02 pm: We determine going down stairs is best saved for another day.

6:15-7:30 pm: Little Bug and I have such fun doing simple sensory activities like diving onto piles of pillows and racing our kitchen chairs around.

8:30 pm: A slumbering Little Bug wakes up when I leave his room to greet Appa home from his week long travels. Little Bug patters to the door, opens it, and is met with his beloved dada--his calm, joyful, content, surprised smile at seeing Appa standing at the door will forever be seared into my brain. Click.

8:35 pm: I open my e-mail to find one of the nicest love letters from my husband. Ever.

9:30 pm: My husband makes me Ramen because I forgot to eat dinner. I whisper "fighting!" and he looks at me like I am nuts. Wine is my friend.

9:50 pm: We fall asleep cuddling on the couch.

Mama-Ego Stroking

As I was pulling into Little Bug's special therapy today, I got a little giddy. I was about to spend a whole hour with him....this special treat for me in the middle of a busy work day. He likes the therapy well enough because they're so skilled at making it seem like fun, but the new location has him a bit on edge, so he holds my finger tightly and come back to my lap numerous times during the session. He's not like that usually, so it's become a nice little treat for me to have an hour of "mama-ego stroking" each week.

It might be wrong of me to enjoy this so much, but I can't help it.

On Birth

My little sister had a baby last night.

Yesterday morning there was no baby. This morning, a new little soul is a part of this world, our family, and his family. A child who will forever be a part of my heart.

I understand that there are fundamental feelings and emotions that women who have not experienced the act of giving birth can't understand, but my sister has given me a great gift. With both of her labors, she's called me right before the "final act" and then again from the recovery room, hopped up on drugs, and still raging on hormones. Last night she was almost forced to hang up because her oxygen was dropping while talking to me. She's let me share with her some of the raw emotion of giving birth (without actually being there, which my squeamish heart would decline anyway). She's cried out her emotions, whispered in a wavering voice her fears, and squealed her joy.

She's allowed me to experience some measure of the birth process, for which I am grateful and humbled. Ironically, last night she told me that part of the reason she is so compelled to call me in these moments is because I don't have my own experiences to judge her against. I am a blank birthing slate, ready to absorb her emotions without judgment or filters.

Last night was truly special. With her first son (the first baby for either of us), there was some measure of "OMG, I'm/You're a Mother....there's a baby here" and complications to understand. This time around, after both of us growing together for the last 2.5 years as mothers who've experiences some readjusted expectations, our conversations were much different.

More honest.
More realistic.
More sincere.
More grateful.
and definitely more joyful.

Who knows what the future holds for my perfect little nephew, but I know I'll never forget the night he was born and the gift that he is.

K--I know you read this sometimes, although with two littles you will probably miss this post. Thanks for walking this motherhood road with me and sharing those parts where your path diverges.

Delicious

I often hear people talk about their love for their child's smell.

Personally, I don't care one way or the other about my child's smell. More often than not, his smell is a mixture of sweat, milk, calendula, and a faint note of urine. Perhaps that is something I should investigate.

What I do love, however, is my child's body heat. When he was a little lump of a baby, I would absolutely cherish the moments when I would get him out of his crib. His skin is so soft and his little body was a soft bundle of warmth....not hot, but just this radiating warmth. The only thing I could compare it to was hugging a loaf of soft, warm bread.

My little son is no longer a lump, so my perception of his warmth has changed. Now I love the moments in the night when I hear his little feet pattering on our floor as he wobbles to our room. Because he isn't wearing his braces and is barely awake, I often take pity on him and meet him half way to pick him up and take him to our bed.

Well, it's partly pity. Mainly, I just love being able to have that moment back, the one where I get to pick up his sleepy form and hold him against me while feeling that wonderful, just-barely-awake warmth that is so unique to him.

Maybe instead of a loaf of bread, he now feels like a long pretzel stick fresh from the oven.....

Time Out

Last night I gave myself a time out.

By yesterday afternoon, my attitude had deteriorated to a pretty low level, primarily because of my heartbreak at having to remove my sad, but resigned, baby from the awesome bubble juggler presentation. I was supposed to go out for a mom's night, but my heart just wasn't into it. My house was a mess, my head was a mess, my husband's travel plans to come home were a mess. I was crying for no reason.

So I gave myself a time out. Little Bug went to play with his prearranged babysitter, and I went home and did some cleaning while watching a little of a favorite Kdrama. I had a drink. I took some time to use some of my anxiety and depression tools I learned from the Midwest Center to break down why my mood was plummeting, which then allowed me to start making some modifications issue by issue. In the span of 2 hours, I was feeling a little better about things.

I'm still swearing in my head, and clearly I am blogging instead of doing my work right now, but I'm working on it and don't feel quite as overwhelmed as I have the last 4 days. Weeks like this creep up on lots of people, I think. Most just don't have blournals where they word vomit about it.

If only time outs worked as well on my toddler as they do on me......

The "F" Word is Silently Running Through My Head

Today begins another phase in our therapy lives...outpatient therapy.

Little Bug is starting a very unique form of occupational therapy that only a few highly specialized pediatric therapy facilities have available. We've been on a waiting list for some time to get him into our local facility, and today is his first session. I know we are very lucky to be able to have access and means to let Little Bug have this special therapy.

This new weekly session (#8 per week) is different than the others that happen at school. I have to leave work, take him out of school, go to the facility, stay for his session, bring him back to school, and return to work. Each week. Of course it sucks for me, but I feel even worse for him. Today he will miss a "bubble juggler"..... I don't know what that is, but I have a feeling he would have enjoyed it. Instead he gets to be hooked into weird machines and messed with for an hour. And he'll be late for lunch.

It makes me sad. This whole damn hypotonia thing makes . me . sad.

Sometimes I get so pissed at his lot in life. I get so angry that my beautiful child has to live this life that isn't absolutely 100% charmed. I hate that he is missing things and experiences. I hate that he is getting old enough to understand his limitations and missed opportunities.

He's come SO FAR, and I can't wrap my mind around how proud I am of him, but he truly has so far yet to go.

Years.

Hypotonia isn't something that can be cured. They say children with hypotonia will trip over themselves and have balance issues well into elementary school. We're starting to see the proof of that. His balance is hitting a plateau and that scares the crap out of me.

I get frantic when I think of his future. In November he ages out of our state program and will have to get his therapy from a special school in our district because we can't realistically afford to retain all his therapists privately. He'll be pulled out of his normal school for a half day each day to spend time at a school that I wouldn't have chosen for him, just to get his therapy (although we are very lucky to live in a very good school district, so I am not truly worried about his care while there). This new special therapy is the only thing we are privately retaining, but it's taken my cleaning lady fund just to finance that and is a real financial pain in the butt.

It's not the financial sacrifices that upsets me really. I'm well aware that we are better equipped that many to handle the financial obligations of a child with special needs, but it's the fear that eventually we won't be able to finance everything we want for him. Or more accurately, that there will one day be nothing more we can buy, hire, or invest in to help him. Money can't buy love or time, but for now, it can buy us hope in the form of new therapy. It's approaching the point where we are going to enter into a long-term status quo, and I am scared to see where we're at when that happens.

This post really doesn't have a point. I'm aware that this impending new therapy has been part of my funk lately, but I'm also just really sad at his regression into bad social skills after such a wonderful stretch of really good behavior. It's such a kick in the gut reminder that we don't have any real control over this, nor does his little baby body and brain. It's life, but sometimes it sucks.

In total honesty, I want Little Bug's needs to all go away. I want Little Bug to be able to wake up in the morning and go through the day with ease and joy. I want him to feel normal--so desperately do I want him to be able to grow up feeling normal--I'm tearing up just thinking about it, but as his emotional development grows, I see the beginning of his recognition that right now he is not normal. Today, dragging him kicking and screaming away from the bubble juggler, we'll both be keenly aware that life isn't fair.

Make no mistake. I'll do whatever it takes in this world for this child. I'd quit my job; I'd move; I'd crawl on my hands and knees to give him a horsey ride; I'd cook. I'd sell my house and car...anything for this boy. So would Appa. And every disappointment is tempered by the fact that Little Bug is the best, brightest soul I have ever had the privilege to encounter and being his parent is an honor.

Little Bug's life will be okay. Better than okay--he's going to have a great life and be a better, stronger person for his challenges. Same for Appa and I. In the grand scheme of things, we have it easier than so many others, even if it is hard to remember that while living your own trials.

But today I'm in a funk and oversensitive. I'm swearing in my head and weeping at my desk because this whole business sucks. For me, for Appa, and most of all, for our son.

Go to Your Happy Place

Last weekend was like a sugar high; it was that great.

The last two days have been one hell of a crash from that high.

A lot of small, not very important in the long run things have piled so high that I sat at my desk this afternoon completely numb. I didn't want to be there, and I didn't want to be home. All I wanted to do was sleep, but even then, I didn't have enough get-up-and-go to even fall asleep at my desk.

Needless to say, the idea of picking up my 2 year old to play single mom to his active self had me a bit overwhelmed. I wasn't on my A game today, and honestly, I wasn't overly interested in even mustering anything more than my C+ game. When I picked him up with a less than glowing daily report, I had no idea what my plan was after I left the parking lot. I knew I didn't want to go home, but I also didn't want to sit in a restaurant on a day with mild humidity.

So I went to the one place I knew I could count on, our local botanical gardens.

This place holds such a special place in my heart. It is the place where I claimed my right as Little Bug's mother. It's the place we've met friends and spent lovely evenings as a family. It's a place that is teaching my suburban baby to appreciate and protect nature. It's a place that Little Bug and I both equally enjoy, if in different ways.

I picked up some dinner, strapped my baby to my back because we've both been enjoying the closer contact lately, and wandered to our secret shaded spot to eat and enjoy a bluegrass concert that happened to be playing (Little Bug and I both enjoyed it so much that I bought the CD). My baby choose to sit on my lap and eat his dinner....something he rarely does. I stared at his profile as the sun gently made it glow. I accepted many a compliment on his cuteness while he waved and blew kisses to passer-byes. We both enjoyed the wonderful train garden and officially reached "regulars" status with the old men who volunteer there. I thought of my son in Korea and my husband in New York, but I found that unlike the majority of the last 2 days, I only thought about how lucky I was that they were somewhere in the world and mine, not dwelling on the fact they weren't there with me.

Mainly, I just allowed myself to be present and with Little Bug. Lots of eye contact, lots of getting down on his level, lots of allowing myself to be wrapped up safely in the little world the botanical garden gives to us.

Being a mom is hard and often makes dealing with outside stress even more stressful. I'm grateful for my happy place, and I'm grateful beyond belief for the little soul who loves to share it with me. It's happy for me because of him.

From the Desk of Your Bug-Bitten Mama

Dear Little Bug,

As you slumbered in your car seat while we drove home from a natural element-taxing weekend of camping, your daddy and I were nearly speechless with pride.

You've come so far.

This weekend you held yourself together through grueling heat and a nighttime storm that even had your parents on edge. You wore sandals instead of leg braces all weekend long and held your own. You busted out numerous new words. You ate at an adult-sized picnic table. You skipped your nap and were completely off schedule, and you handled it with 2-year-old grace. That is enough to get a gold star from your adoring parents.

Even more, you proved how much you have matured emotionally and developmentally. You played close with other little boys without hitting them in the face (although we did have some time outs, but those were for pretty normal 2-year-old behavior sort of things, so you get a "time served" in my mind). You played with your friends, not adjacent to them. You clearly enjoyed the interaction. You practiced sharing. You even held hands and tried to run with them.

It's always been a secret fear of mine that your social skills would be something you would struggle with for a long time. My heart would break at the thought of your bright spirit not having friends to share it with. You still have work to do, but all 2 year olds do.....you're in good company, my sweet boy.

To see your hard work pay off with the chance to play with little friends and enjoy their company was the VERY best part of a fun camping weekend for your parents. As your Appa said tonight,

"I love being his dad."

That's ditto for me.

Learn to Love Your Lawn

I've learned a valuable lesson recently:

The grass is never really greener on the other side.

Sure, it might seem more lush or whatever botanical word goes well with grass, but the fact remains that it's still grass, which means it can die, grown weeds, harbor biting bugs, and itch when stuck to your bare skin.

When we switched adoption agencies, I was sad because I liked our little spot of grass. Was it perfect? No way; but we were happy. However, secretly I was excited to work with a much larger agency. Surely the grass was a tiny bit greener on that side. And it is nice on this new side, don't get me wrong.

But not greener, really. Perhaps a different shade of green, but thorns still grow and bug still bite. Different types, but it still stings.

It doesn't mean it is bad, but it's not perfect. I don't regret making the switch, but it's definitely not as tremendously ideal as I thought it would be.....perhaps because nothing could possibly be perfect.

And I realized this little lesson probably applies to a lot of things in my life....if you keep thinking (or expecting) the grass to be greener, you're never going to be happy with where you are right then or happy with wherever you are going next.

Praying For His Buddies

When we announced Little Bro's referral, I was shocked when FOUR people contacted me to tell me they had been "looking" at his profile and even a few of them has requested his information after we had. One friend, in particular, told me that she had been praying specifically for our son to have his family find him.

Well, whaddya know, we did.

Of course, we weren't actually looking for him. It just sort of happened that we looked randomly and were given the strong feeling that we needed to "explore" his information more. We had NO business exploring a waiting child. We were close to a referral. We had paid all our money. We had no plans to adopt an "older child." But in the end, we listened to that little feeling that prompted us to just consider it.

And we found our son. Little Bro, Big Star, Two of Two loves of our lives. Our perfect, healthy, son and his referral that was not nearly as scary as we thought accepting a waiting child would be.

And since then, I check that photo listing at least once a day to see the other little babies and toddlers and kids who have not found their families yet. The majority are thriving and carry the label of their "special need" only on their profile...not in their daily lives. Just like my friend, I pray for these little ones now. I KNOW how perfect they most likely are, but I also KNOW how scary the label "waiting child" is for parents. I literally get giddy when a profile is highlighted as "Matched."

And I swore I would not do this again, but I feel so strongly today that I should share this link to my friend's blog who is publicly advocating for the little boy her son lived with in Korea. A little boy whose picture I gaze at each day on that list. A little boy who has a family and life ahead of him. A little boy who is just like my Little Bro and every other little kid in the world. Perfectly imperfect.

I will forever be shocked at Appa and my choice to pursue our son's referral. We lost money, time, and perceived process security, but we gained a son that I feel to the bottom of my soul is the one meant to be in our lives forever.

All because we looked and thought about it and took a chance. My gut was leading me there, whether I knew it or not. If yours is, you should follow it. When it says stop, stop. When it says go, go.

I try not to write posts to people other than myself and my kids on this blog. But, I feel strongly today to share this link, so I'm going with it.

Maybe this is not a link you will feel compelled to click.

Maybe this is just going to be a blog that you end up enjoying.

Maybe this is going to open your eyes to waiting child adoption and lead you to the photo listings? Or maybe help you lead someone else there? Maybe that won't lead you anywhere but to increased awareness, or maybe, like her blog did for me, it will lead you ultimately to your child?

Or maybe this is your son?

All of these options are okay and right. But you never know until you at least think about it.

Card Carrying Member

When I drop Little Bug off each morning at his fancy-dancy "early learning center" (yes, it's snooty and we call it school), I enjoy seeing my fellow members of the unspoken club we all belong to:

The Professional Parent.

20 minutes earlier we had curlers in our hair and a toothbrush hanging out of our mouths while we were begging our half-naked children to show us where they hid their other socks, some obnoxious cartoon blaring in the background.

20 minutes later we will be the consummate professional, taking meetings, making deals, manipulating spreadsheets, or saving lives. Or something like that.

But at this moment, the moment we come together to drop our kids off at school, I find a lot of amusement (and fellowship). The business man who is going to broker million dollar deals has his tie slung over one shoulder and his 2-year-old son slug over the other, his hands filled with diapers, a sippy cup, and a little model train. The woman in awesome designer heels who will be restructuring a human resource department today is bent down trying to dig a booger out of her 3-year-old daughter's nose. The nurse who is singing "Wheels on the Bus" as he slowly backs toward the door. The accountant who is giving a detailed account of his child's bowel movements for the last 24 hours. The editor who stands patiently in the lobby as her little bug delights in a very loud voice over and over that the ceiling fan is "ON!"

I often feel like I am living dual lives. My life as a wife and mother, and my life as a professional. I sometimes shake my head as I am doing a "poop check" and think, how did I go from doing this to editing the writing of a triple PhD? I sometimes sit at work and can't believe I am editing some dry bit of textbook when somewhere my adorable son is learning how to jump.

It's the moments in the mornings, when I see all the other parents who are doing their best to navigate between their dual lives where I feel more normal. Those 5 minutes of half parent/half professional make the transition to my desk each morning a little easier.

That and I rarely find poop during the "poop checks."

Riding in Cars With One Boy

I think I have become a lot more laid back in my mothering in the last few years. Once over-vigilant to the point of obsession, I'm now more apt to let my kid go ahead and eat that cracker he found under the couch....if it has dust on it, he'll spit it out. I let him plop his butt in mud....shorts can be washed, usually with the hose like the rest of his body. I let him run sans clothes (but with diaper) in our backyard...I never quite figured out why I was so opposed to that one for so long.

But I'm still struggling with one area of unwavering resolve....leaving him in the car.

When I was little, I was left in the car while my mom popped into the gas station or pizza place. I'm confident that leaving the air conditioning on would protect my son from cooking inside out while I take 2 minutes to buy a DDP and a chocolate milk on our way to a park date or drop a library book off inside the library.

Yet, I cannot do it. I tell myself as I pull into the parking lot and gather my things while leaving the car running that he will be fine in plain view for a minute or two, but at the last minute, I chicken out and turn the car off, unbuckle my kid, and drag him into the gas station. Neither one of us is super thrilled with this decision.

I'm not sure if it is because my anxiety of the horror stories you hear of babies in extreme heat gets the better of me or if I am somehow envisioning someone stealing my car and my kid, or if my phobia of a car slipping out of park and into traffic is at play, but I cannot, despite my best attempts, leave my child unattended in the car for longer than it takes to run the video into the rental drop box or return a shopping cart.

Just a small look into the inner workings of a neurotic mama-in-progress.

Motherhood is an Art

I rarely feel like I have a very good handle on the creative side of motherhood. I stress over the fact that my kid isn't being creatively stimulated enough at home. I have a feeling most mothers do. For me, I at least know that he is doing clever projects at school each day. It's almost like I get a free pass in the evenings to be the lame part of his day.

Where is the fun in that?

It took me a long time, but I am finally realizing that kids need to get messy sometimes in order to explore their creative side. I can either let him color with markers and learn how to color on the paper at age 2.5, or I can withhold markers until he is 16 and I can take away his driving privileges for coloring on his shirt or trying to eat the marker.

So, I have been trying really hard to add some mess into our lives lately.

Last night was...ominous music...paint.

My planning ahead consisted of buying nontoxic and washable paint and some canvas when it was on sale and saving it for a nonrainy day when I was feeling brave. That was the extent of the planning.

When I resolved to take a stab at the painting last night, I just stripped my kid down to his diaper; took him outside; gave him a paintbrush, canvas, and bucket of paints; and let him pick a color out (one by one to preserve some semblance of color) and have at it.

An hour later we had two very fun painted canvases, and Little Bug was covered head to toe in paint he had lovingly applied to his body with his brush. I busted out the hose and washed my kid and his slide (which was also painted) down...the best way to end a very fun and muggy tonight.

It wasn't until much later that I noticed my face was streaked with teal blue from the huge, unprompted kiss Little Bug gave me in the midst of his work.

Motherhood is an art. A messy, colorful, sticky, beautiful art.

A Backhanded Love Letter

Tonight Little Bug and I were sitting outside watching (or rather, feeling) the Midwest summer storm roll in. Little Bug has had a rough day (mainly because we were bad parents and kept him up way too late last night), and I was momentarily jealous of Appa's night of room service and hotel premium channels. My husband works long hours. LONG days. Usually far away. I'd be lying if I said this didn't cause me serious annoyance, frustration, sadness, etc. Most of the time I forget that when he is not here with his family, he isn't off doing something fun.

It hit me tonight that when he is away from us, he would probably cut off his left arm to spend the evening eating leftovers (actually, in the interest of truthiness, Little Bug and I had Arby's tonight) and sitting outside watching our child slowly melt down. He's working his butt off 90+ hours a week to provide a nice home for our family and let us live comfortably while creating a fufilling career.

So to the real place my head went tonight. I admire the hell out of my husband. He had the most impeccable work ethic in undergrad, always with his eye on the prize of a good grad school. He was devoted to his research in grad school, breaking ground in the field of stem-cell research. Although he could have gotten his PhD with just a publication or two and going through the motions for 5 years, he published at least five papers, filed three patents, and created a project that was robust enough to be passed along to another student. Beside work ethic, he just blew me away with how intelligent he truly was. I tease, but I found his lab rat persona pretty sexy.

So I was rocked to my core when he told me out of the blue that he was terribly unhappy with the lab life and wanted to pursue a career in business. This is a man who has spent 19 years in science-focused classes. But, when it was clear that he was serious, I watched him start auditing business classes and helped him go through case studies for interviews. Secretly, I couldn't imagine how all this could lead anywhere.

Wouldn't you know, he got the job. The job that he had absolutely no qualifications for other than just simply being his intelligent and articulate self. I still am surprised in some ways. I'm even more surprised that we agreed (and still do) that it was the right fit for our family. What I am not surprised about is how hard he has worked in the last few years to prove himself, gather necessary knowledge and experience, and just generally excel at an incredibly hard challenge that he had no business excelling at.

All this was swirling in my head while the clouds were stirring above me and my little boy tonight. Suddenly, instead of being annoyed that my husband is often absent and always having fabulous dinners and staying in swanky hotels, I had this fervent hope that somehow he will be able to teach our sons to live as fearlessly and completely as he subtly has. I'm Mrs. Status Quo, but Appa puts 110% into whatever he is doing and isn't afraid to make a change (sometimes HUGE changes) in order to seek happiness and something better for himself and the ones he loves (namely, me and our babies). It's grueling, but it seems to be worth it for him, which makes it worth it for me.

My mama's wish of the day: for my sons to be even half the fearless but realistic dreamer their Appa is.

A Working Mama's Whine

What came first? The (working) mom or the messy house?

I'm really trying to find balance in my homemaking role, and it's hard. I work full time, and my son works his little diaper-clad butt off each day in school (he uses up SO much energy just doing daily things, let alone his multiple therapy sessions). When we get home, it's time for dinner and then a few hours of together time. For me, this time is best spent with my child because I don't see him during the day.

But I'm tired. He's tired. We both just want to hang.

Sure, we go to the park or take a bike ride. We play outside. We work on colors or shapes. At least once a week we head over to the botanical gardens or a much cooler park. But the honest truth is that my son really just wants my complete attention while he winds down. This can be while watching his music show or while he is playing with kitchen utensils or walking backwards a la Michael Jackson. But the key is that he wants my attention.

I know my 2.5 year old should be more independent than he is. He's not crippled by needing me, but he certainly is attention-spoiled and would like to keep it that way. I like spending time with him, I like being wanted and needed.

But I don't like the fact that I can't easily even think about fold a load of laundry or do the dishes or mop the floor until after 8:30 pm.

Because I'll be honest, after working all day and being a bit on the lazy side, at that point I am not feeling it.

Being a working mama is hard. Not to say being a stay at home mom isn't just as hard, but being a mother in general seems to be a challenging position. However, from my working mom position, I try to spend all the limited time I have with my boy doing things that will be good for him and good for us. I'm trying very hard to make our time together more and more substantial now that he is getting older and more aware. Appa travels during the week, so it's not like I can tag team with anyone. It's all up to moi.

Once he goes to bed, I want MY time. I need my time to stay sane. To surf the web and connect with friends, to write and read, to do adoption paperwork, to veg. The last thing I want to do with my time is clean late at night, so I usually don't.

But shocker, no one else does it for me.

Having a messy house does weird things to my head. In the summer we can get out in the evening so I can pretend there isn't a large family of dust bunnies living in our corners and something sticky underneath my table. We all have clean underwear somewhere....right?

I'm actually hiring someone to do some light cleaning for us a couple times a month, but I need to get better about figuring out a way to convince Little Bug to play nicely long enough for me to do some housekeeping things during a time when I am actually motivated to do so.

I don't want to be supermom (well, I actually would love that), but I do want to get better about balancing all the aspects of motherhood and homemaker that I have taken on in our home. My poor husband works his butt off, and I feel horrible when he comes home after a long week to loads of dirty laundry and dishes...even though his son and wife are happy. I'd like to feel a bit more balanced.

How? No idea. That's why this was a whine......