B.C.

I just sent my son to his room. Sometimes being a mother sucks the great, big, crusty one.

He's tired. I'm tired. Add in a brand, new $350 violin and it is not a good combination.

He was pouting because now that he's graduated from his foam violin to a real one, the chin rest isn't as comfortable. Usually I'd say, "Pout all you want. We're still practicing." But pouting while balancing a violin on your shoulder results in a violin (did I mention it costs $350) smashed on my parquet floor.

Sometimes I just want to be rescued. I know he doesn't need to play the violin. Or do any other activity, for that matter. But he usually loves it. And I usually have patience.

Okay, that's a lie. I never have patience. I suck.

I rarely, if ever, dream about life BC (before children). I love my life and appreciate it beyond measure. But just now, while my son is throwing things and screaming in his room I mourn for my twenty-six inch waist, restful nights, carefree weekends, and sanity.

I need a break.