I am leaning against the window in a corner behind the Christmas tree.  I'm hiding from the baby.  I arrived this morning and their mother informed me that the female twin is in a whiny stage, that the baby is clinging and that the poor boy has just discovered that he is, in fact, a boy.

Lovely.

I am happy to report that the twins are tucked away in dream land, the kitchen is scrubbed, and the baby is on the other side of the tree.

Thank God she hasn't learned hide and seek yet.

Now all I have to worry about are the dogs.  They've been sitting at the door for an hour, whining.  But they aren't allowed out, they're on lockdown due to neighbor threats and excessive high pitched barking.  Barking that sounds even better inside the house.

Shoot.  Now the dog is sitting right in front of me.  Tucker, if you blow my cover, I'll drop you off on the neighbor's porch and let them at you.

All this to say, I am glad to have my life right now.  I'll take a twenty pager on Barbauld and Wordsworth's view of the child any day over exploding diapers and nose picking and wet beds.  Until they look at me and ask if they can snuggle.  Or the baby starts giggling for no reason.  Then I am hopelessly lost to them.  Again.

I went to Texas for Thanksgiving and it was a balmy 80 degrees.  That's all it took for me to embrace the slow talking, abundance of mexican food, big hair.  Sign me up.  Now.  Yeehaw and all that.

A friend texted me on the way. 

Him:  Where are you?  I need some Tasha time.
Me:  You're funny.  I'm on the road.
Him:  Lame.
Me:  Come, I just found the best taco stand.
Him:  Let's find a courthouse too.  And then keep driving South.
Me:  Those are magic words.

Is it any surprise that January Wedding is my favorite song right now?  Because marriage would be the answer to all of my problems, I'm sure.  I'd sleep better and suddenly eat right and that paper cut on my left pinkie would go away.  Yes, take me away.  Far away and let's always smile, never worry, and lose ten pounds overnight.

Oh dear.

Ready for the day dream I'm living in lately?

It's a good one.

I'll trade my beautiful coats and shoes and dresses and small car in for an old truck, you know the kind with a large steering wheel and one long seat.  And I'll find a dog named Augustine to keep me company, he'll sit next to me with his head out the window.  We'll follow the map to the warmest places and sleep by the water.  Eat oranges and peanut butter sandwiches and write children's stories.

Maybe I'll change my name to Audrey.  And work in a small diner on the weekends.  And every night I'll swim until I'm tired and read to the dog before bed.  We'll sleep in the back under the stars and in the morning we'll run with the waves and find treasures.  I'll meet someone who makes me feel like a woman even on my ugly days, someone who settles me and loves oranges too. 

And we'll live in an old house with large windows and a ghost story.  Have seven dogs and three chickens and maybe a rug.  He'll smoke his pipe in the den and I'll put lights in every room because I hate the dark.  And we'll live with the blinds open, in front of God and the ghost and everyone.  I'll do the grocery shopping and he'll do the cooking and our only fights will be over the dishes.  We won't have people over because we don't like them, but we'll sit on our porch and watch them.  We'll stay up late talking about God and the day.  And we'll swim every night, laugh every day, and grow very very old.

The End.

I know.  It's ridiculous.

I'm in big trouble because I'm buttoning fewer buttons on my shirts and using hairspray.  Between the kid watching and the schooling, I am so desperate to feel like a woman.  Not a mom, not a student, a blasted woman.

I spend my days chasing three year olds around and my evenings surrounded by articles and coffee cups and computer paraphernalia.  My bad hair days have become my good ones and my nails are tattered. I'm surprised I'm not crazier.

Just don't be surprised if you go to the store and all of the oranges are gone.  They're in the back of my truck.