I keep listening for little voices

It’s my birthday! You know what the best thing about today is? Jeremy took the day off work. It’s like an extra Saturday. An extra Saturday where I get to go to a coffee shop and lounge around and feel like a responsibility-free college student again. Okay, I had a lot of responsibilities in college, but homework never threw itself on the ground and screamed if I didn’t do something exactly right. In fact, I could ignore homework up until the very last minute possible, and it still never uttered a word of protest. Something tells me the children would not allow that.

Yesterday I got the kitchen cabinet re-hung. And that’s about it. Other than some of my regular everyday duties. I took a stab at the peeling paint in the dining room, but I didn’t know what I was doing and made it way worse. So I stopped, lest I pull down the plaster or burn the house down by accident.

This insomnia business is making me crazy. My brain will go back to normal for a few days, just long enough to lull me into a false sense of happiness and (almost) well-restedness.

Then, BAM! The night before my birthday I wake up three times for no reason at all and take forever to get back to sleep. The BABY sleeps better than I do. I think I need to be swaddled at night or something.

There are some slightly crazy ladies (crazy in the fun way) at the table next to me. I’m trying not to eavesdrop, but that’s not really possible. They’re talking pretty loudly, and I can even hear them over my headphones. It’s funny that the most granola people I’ve run across in years are here in Jefferson of all places. And I lived in the Crunchy Capital of the Midwest for five years. Excellent people-watching there.

Oh, Madison, I do so miss you. Enthusiastic road construction and all.

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