Letting the dog from the leash

The kitchen is full of dishes. Some left from Sunday's party, some from other times. Until earlier today, the dining room table still held three dirty plates from dinner last night...one being my husband's over half full of old spaghetti. I'd upset him too much to eat, I guess. I was having another mid-week meltdown and giving him the what-for about my isolated life as a full time Mom.

I haven't gotten dressed all week, save for on Monday when we attempted to have a great day at the zoo. We had a day there, anyway. Today I sat on my bed on pins and needles as Adrien slept in the living room and Jude lay on my bed napping. The last shower I had was Saturday morning before a friend's baby shower. Still, it was nap time and I'd chosen first and foremost to dig into a book that had come for me in today's mail. Dishes and hygiene be damned, because this book was about finding yourself in the depths of motherhood.

Not even one chapter in and a dog started to yip outside my bedroom window. Banging from above. The trophy wife of the doctor who lives above me is home and she'd put her dandy little doggie out to doodie. I can still hear her high heels clicking around on the hardwood floor. She's so privileged...and she can't even drag her high heeled self out to walk her dog? I felt like walking right up to her door, pounding on it and giving her the run around about her dog waking my child up during precious, precious nap time.

But how would I look to this pampered picture of perfection? So instead, I picked up the crying baby and came to the computer to write this.