Things I've come to accept.

I should be incredibly irritated. After all, my husband and I came to an agreement only yesterday to be a little more disciplined to make sure we get to do everything we want. That agreement has already been tossed out the window thanks to my husband's work who called him at 10 p.m. on a freaking Sunday, trying to get him to go in. It's now getting toward 9:30 Monday and he's still there. At one point I would have been tearing my hair out in annoyance. But now, I'm just rolling my eyes. I've come to the following conclusions:

1. No matter what I'm about to do (relaxing, watching TV, writing, taking a bath), just as I'm about to do it if it involves something that will benefit only me and not the house, a child or a husband, I will be interrupted by my husband's questions about the remote, what I'm doing, what's for dinner. Or someone will call me and my husband will pound on the bathroom door.

2. My son has the exact same sense of timing my husband does.

3. My son will not sleep. Ever. And by ever, I mean that a million years from now, he will still be awake, probably singing in his high piping voice or yelling, "Hey, mommy! Come on, come here - I'm staying in bed. Come see me stay in bed!" I have been writing this post for 15 minutes and have already been interrupted twice. Oh, bloody hell. Make that three times. How is that kid still so freaking wide awake and, even worse, so damn gleeful about it?

4. Nothing, and I mean nothing, will go the way I hope it will. And if it does, it will freak me out.

5. A schedule with our family will not work. It just won't. When my husband and I came to our agreement, I mean my husband and I sat down and put together a reasonable evening schedule to ensure that the house is eventually put to rights, we both get time to work on our respective side businesses (yes, we both have them) and somehow will get to sleep by 11. The next day, it's 9:30 p.m. and my husband is not home, the kitchen is a sty once more and I need to wait until my son is at least semi-comatose to be able to do really anything.

6. I really, really hate books that are supposed to improve me. You know, Anna Karenina, Faust, Farenheit 451? Yeah, about those. I just can't get into them.

7. I am a much meaner person than I ever realized. I just hide it better.

After reading this, I'm actually trying to get annoyed because I feel it's my duty to do so. I mean, I've experienced every single one of the situations that should tick me off today. But I can't seem to muster the interest, the energy or the same level of irritation I would have just a few years ago. What is wrong with me? Am I losing my edge? Getting old? Getting numb? A combination of all three? Ugh. The kid may be slowing down. I'll bet if I pick up a good book, that'll get my husband to come home.