exquisite normality

When I worked to earn money (instead of love & kisses & hugs & the occasional tantrum), I had different priorities. Around about noon, my mind would begin to wander. . .

What will we do for dinner tonight? Seriously, who cooks for two people unless you love to cook?

Where will we go? Because home is kinda boring, and when you can go somewhere, why not?

What will I wear? Because in my copious amounts of free time, I'd shop.

Will anyone else be coming along? None of our friends had kids and were always up for a fun night out.

I'd love a glass of Chardonnay tonight.  Because, well.. who wouldn't?

Things are different, now.

Noon rolls around and I think about nighttime.

What will we do for dinner, tonight? I figure it out and start prepping in the stillness of Harper's nap.

Where will we go? Probably to the kitchen, where we'll color and stack blocks between stirs and oven checks. After dinner, we'll sit on the floor in the den and play Harper's favorite game - Monkey in the Middle. We'll laugh as hard as we ever did on any crazy night out.

What will I wear? If PJs are good enough for Harper, they're good enough for me.  I draw the line at those adult-sized footed ones. No. They're scary.

Will anyone else be coming along? Our dinner guest is a frequent one.  She's short, is very messy and has a lot to say.  After she's tucked in, I don't clink glasses and do a tipsy dance with girlfriends at a bar, but we text. . . about girly things and mom things and life things. 

I'd love a glass of Chardonnay tonight.  Because, well.. who wouldn't? Tonight, though, I'll lie in bed and sip a glass of water because I can't wait to start over in the morning. . . and that's hard to do with a hangover.