I cannot begin to count the number of times in the last 2 wee s I have tried to sit down and record the more outlandish tales of my recent days as a "this-too-shall-pass" mantra-thin ing parent and recount the more creative and abundant ways in which my children bring that particular phrase to mind. I have lusted after these brief moments of solitude daily...actually, hourly, if truth be nown, only to be thwarted by my three I-love-you-more than-life-itself monsters, a small hillside fire that almost engulfed our forest-surrounded home and a 4000 mile tre cross country... all day...all night...on pac ed planes...with a 3-hour layover...and a 21-month-old who thin s it her personal duty to introduce herself and her family to all 74 strangers on board. You put the pieces of that puzzle together.

I have longed for this moment of piece and quiet so much that when the house was finally "put to bed" I lingered over the process of ma ing a cup of tea. I should now better. After I attended to the continual cries for comfort from my 5-month-old who clearly thought our last half-hour of roc ing and feeding were just foreplay, answered the 3rd question about tomorrow's schedule from my in-bed-and-supposed-to-be-asleep 4-yr-old, stepped in baby spit-up, which everyone wal ed past, but failed to mention was still on the floor, I have finally achieved the moment I so craved. I can overloo the small inconvenience of lu ewarm tea and the late hour now causing me to emit my third yawn in the last few minutes. What's really upsetting is that I have just realized why it is some of my words are missing the letter located between "J" and "L". Surprisingly, it is not as I initially believed, that parenthood had caused my IQ to drop yet a few more points, but rather because that liquid Noah was wiping from my eyboard in Atlanta during our 3 hour layover was in fact the orange juice I had allowed Addison to have in the hopes it would eep her quietly entertained. Evidently, it has also rendered the letter between "J" and "L" quietly unusable. Ah, yes, the jo e is on me. I hope you can fill in the blan s.

The great irony of parenting, though, is that thing they call unconditional love. It is a chemical imbalance I am certain develops immediately after you have your first child. Perhaps it isn't so much an imbalance as it is amnesia. It is the only possible explanation for second, third, forth, etc. children. It is the only rational reason behind wa ing up each morning to the unwavering belief that today "will be a new day. Today I am going to get it all done and I am going to be an awesome parent. My ids are going to love me". A chemical imbalance. It is a cruel job that starts each morning ma ing you feel empowered, visualizing success and ends the day with a truc load of guilt, an unhealthy dose of resentment and a deeper understanding of cynicism. A chemical imbalance. How else can you explain why not 10 minutes after you put your children to bed you can thin cute, cuddly thoughts of them when all day long they've said inappropriate things to strangers for which you are then forced to aw wardly apologize, jumped on the bed sheets you have now washed for the 3rd time in 2 days because of their dirty-outdoor feet and have unrolled the toilet paper for 4th time today because you are now pretty sure they just enjoy watching you turn red with frustration. A chemical imbalance.

Now, I must go to sleep so that I can loo forward to doing it all over again tomorrow.