Cords and Fleece

Elizabeth. She always catches my attention--she's always floating there in the back of my mind. At 3 1/2, she's already an emotional manipulator. She tells me she loves me all the time, kisses my hands, hugs me. She does this when I'm particularly irritated with her, or when she doesn't want to go to bed. She knows that I'm a total sucker for her love. It's very frustrating! "Ok, goodnight. It's time to go to bed," I say. We're already way into "my time" territory--the time of the evening when I need to do my own thing. "I love you, Mommy," she says, and kisses my hand. And then kisses it again, and again, and again. My resolve weakens, but my need to be on my own is as strong as ever. "Ok, let's go to bed," I persist. Then she hugs my legs. Then my arms, one at a time. Then she wants to kiss my face. "Honey, let's go." This time I physically pick her up and deposit her into the bed. But as I try

Each afternoon as I get closer and closer to home, I begin to dread the rest of the evening. I enjoy the girls, and being home and cooking supper. But there's no room for error--no time for free-will. I have work to do as soon as I step through the door, and the monotony of it is a drag. Veering from the routine causes major problems later, so I often don't get to take my shoes off until after dinner. So each day as I near home, I start to feel heavy. Tonight, my parents came over for dinner (which is good), but Mom had already called my cell phone twice--once to say she was at my house and again to tell me she was worried that I was late. (*sigh*) I used to see my car as a welcome escape from the outside world--a sanctuary of freedom. But two children and one cell phone later, I am no longer free. I am "on call". I long for my highschool days when I drove for hours after school along the backroads of Iowa, listening to the radio, and completely unavailable. When I ar