My family and I just got back from visiting a friend’s new (and completely adorable) pad – incidentally only a couple blocks away, which is great news for my social life. At this point after mounting incidents it’s time for me to publically admit I am finding myself envious of my single Mama friends. They party, they hang out, they drink, they smoke, they buy new clothes and furniture, they cavort with boys (seriously, dating, or entirely platonically) with no repurcussions, and they GET RID OF THEIR KIDS FOR HOURS, DAYS, WEEKS AT A TIME while seemingly enjoying their grownup time entirely. And as far as I can tell they are just as happy and fufilled as I am in most every way.
There, I said it. May Sweet Jesus not strike my ass for admitting it. P.S. Please don’t divorce your harpy queen. My sweet, sweet manboy husband.
Actually, what this is really telling me is that it’s time to pack my kids’ shit up in two suitcases and drop them off at the logical halfway point – not quite halfway, but what the heck – for my parents to come pick them up. One week sounds about right. Then I myself can cavort, hang out with, smoke, drink, shop, whatever – and cavort with my own boy of choice who happens to share my house and bed.