Like most people, I frequently wonder what I’m doing married or, as I was telling my uncle-in-law the other day, what to do with the person I’m married to, because after I’m done working and vacuuming and getting spit up on and reading stories and issuing positive discipline and paying the phone bill and filing my taxes there’s often not a lot left over for my long-suffering spouse, who persists in claiming to find me attractive despite my general state of haphazard disarray. The last few days have been especially busy, and I had a meeting for our son’s co-op playschool last night that started at eight, so when I dashed out of the house just before bedtime I figured this would be yet another night of one of us crawling into bed to find the other long unconscious (although usually I’m the one who passes out before prime time). So imagine my surprise when I dashed home, exhausted and slightly drunk from the 1.5 Sapphire and sodas I’d consumed at the meeting (hey, even ‘curriculum planning’ deserves a little party, right?), and feeling a little maudlin about the fact that the one time I got to hang out and consume alcohol with some friendly adults, it was at the cost of missing yet another opportunity to have ‘adult time’ with my spouse, to find the lights still on and the house all clean and my husband kind of wandering sheepishly around the kitchen, waiting for me, and I was glad because if he’d been asleep, I would have missed him.

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