Some parts of this gig just really suck…

It’s 7 a.m. on a Saturday morning, and I’m making pancakes for Ender. Because I love him. Even though he got me up at 4:47 a.m.

And somewhere out there in cyberspace is an old crone—er, I mean post-menopausal matriarch—actually, I very specifically mean my Aunt Augusta, and maybe yours too?—who’s tutting at my complaint about my bleary eyes and fuzzy head and saying,

“Treasure EVERY second. One day you will miss those precious moments.”

Well, Aunt Augusta. I now have a teenager whom I can’t rouse out of bed before noon.


Sure, there are lots of precious moments from Cinder’s earlier and earliest years that I miss acutely and will treasure forever.

Experiencing his wakefulness in a state of comatose-ness at 5 a.m.? Not so much.

Not at all, actually.

Changing diapers, wiping bums? Not one little bit.

I didn’t enjoy, cherish and relish every moment.

And neither will you. (And neither did you, Aunt Augusta, you goddamn hypocrite; your memories are rewritten and you LIE).

And that’s totally ok.

I cherish him. Them.

In sickness and in health. In joy and in “OMFG-are-you-trying-to-drive-me-into-a-madhouse” moments. (Well, not in those moments. But shortly thereafter.)

But some moments, many of them occurring before sunrise, in washrooms, or at meltdown hour just blow goats. And that’s ok. You don’t have to cherish them. You just have to get through them.



NBTB-Some parts suck

P.S. This post brought to you by purveyors of fine coffee beans everywhere.