This has been an up and down (down, down) month at casa del J-ward. It was frankly making me wonder if I was losing it just a wee little bit. I felt bad that every time I talked to friends far away I was kind of dark and grunty.
This weekend, lo, it came through for me. Mom and dad took away my baby boy for two nights and spoiled him mercilessly. Seriously, it wasn't until this afternoon that he finally looked at who was spooning over the yogurt with a glint and a giggle of recognition. A grandparent junky at 15 months, help us Mr. Roboto.
The generous chunk of Alone Time gave J and I the space to rehearse for some rad Churchy God stuff (more later) and to have the baddest, loudest and longest fight since way back in our early Madison days. We (um ok, I) no longer slam doors, but why can I not refrain from the piercing shrillness? I hate that and snivel-crying. It occurs to me often that I wouldn't want to live with me 76.3% of the time, time I spend in sad imitation of some demented terrier in heat with a leaky nasal system. Attractive. I mean, while being right all the time is nice, I would still like to be in better control of my voice and snot, see.
Big stupid fight notwithstanding, this weekend was a turning point. Something let go and I'm okay with my playing and parenting Toby and my duties as a shrew-wife (licensed and bonded in the state of Oregon only).
I think becoming an adult is repeatedly accepting the impossibility of perfection and recognizing the vast superiority of the extraordinary. Awesomeness, incredibility, superlity, neat-o-rama. We have it in spades, and we get to enjoy it every day UNLESS!! the distractions win out.
Thank you, Easter weekend*. I'm so much more prepared for (the 8.75 months left of) the new year.
*Sponsored by generous grandparents set B, Black Butte Porter, Huckleberry Pie and Office Space.