also titled, "Why I spent an hour locked in my room with 2 beers"

Jim's back in the classroom this term. He's taking two classes now, and has only one left. He's done really well thus far and I should give voice to the huge part of me that is a supportive partner. He's working hard on his Masters degree, and even harder on balancing the demands of school, a full time job, and a family.

He had class last night, and got home at 10 pm. And he'll have one tomorrow night. Thursday he has an evening meeting, and tonight he went to another meeting.

Tonight was going well; the kids and I walked to the playground, had a great time, came home, talked with the neighbor kids and then it was time for bath. They both enthusiastically undressed and got in the tub. Moments later, Willa called out (in alarm) to announce that Henry had pooped in the tub.

Grumble, grumble... kids out, toys out, water out. Scrub tub with baking soda and vinegar. Toys to the basement to soak in bleach water. Bath #2 drawn. Kids in.

And moments later, there's yelling again. While I was scrubbing the tub for the second time in 20 minutes I wondered where this was coming from: 2 new teeth this week has slowed down the eating.

And when Henry had to endure a cool shower - the hot water was gone after 2 full tubs and me doing dishes - he screamed.

I called Jim at 8:45 and left the following message: I need you to come home. I'll be the one who is drunk.

I am not typing drunk. But those two beers, some pretzel rods and an hour of Glee lifted spirits. Though probably not as much as when, searching for some silver lining, I asked Willa to tell me one thing she liked about me. She replied, "I love you because you give the best hugs. Can I have one now?"

Yup, rough night. Tomorrow is a new day.