You know those days when you just need to reach for a vice?  Blame it on hormones or stress, whatever.  An hour ago, after having a perfectly healthy and homemade dinner, I reached for a bag of salami, some chocolate brownies and a Dr. Pepper.  Only the intense flavors of “junk” passing over my tongue could satisfy this mood.  Kids will drive you to drink, oh yes.  I reached for a glass of the good stuff first — the bottle of red table wine that was sitting on my kitchen counter for a month.  What’s this?  It seems to have spoiled before I even pulled the cork.  I tasted a bit and shook my head in dismay.  Shit.  The weather has been pretty darn hot, so there-ya-go.

With the husb off on a business trip to Northern California for 3 days, I’m on my own with both kids.  Bedtime can really be the pits, but most parents will admit this is true in their homes too.  The house is quiet now so that I may read and write while crickets chirp in the muggy darkness of early September.  Before I wash up the rest of the dishes and head off to bed, I thought I’d write a post about how lovely my summer has been.  It has been stellar.

I sang with live musicians.

I ran my first half marathon.

And I convinced a three year old to cease his blood-curdling meltdown at Redondo Beach and build sandcastles with his father.

You see, even though most days I feel like a failure, I’m actually kind of awesome.

 

(This is my 150th post.)

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