Weary

I am tired. Really, really tired.

But! My house is clean, my baby is asleep, my curtains are hemmed, my quilt has three rows stitched, and I got a damned good deal on some diapers.

And, I cooked dinner.

And, beer. I have a beer.

So, all things considered, it could be worse.

All the control-freak notions--the feeling that I couldn't get things under control--have subsided considerably. I've streamlined, and pared down, and downsized, and decluttered. I'm organized and scheduled, and I feel like I just may have a handle on things.

And, I have homemade pie for dessert.

What sort of mother of an 7 month old should have time for baking a damned pie, anyway?

I'm freaking my husband out, though, with all this newfound tidiness and increased thriftiness and general vibe of self-improvement. I have lists. I have a calendar. I don't leave the dishes in the sink. I'm requesting a new bathing suit. It's all very strange. Or, maybe it's just summer.