I have a theory that the very thing that attracts one to another is ultimately what will repel one or both at some point.

When the kids were little I loved having Bill home during the day. He is a jeweler and since his workshop is directly downstairs he is always just a scream away for help. My intense boys, just two and a half years apart, ran me ragged and sometimes another pair of adult hands was the only things stopping me from running out and never returning.

Now the kids are at school all day and I swear just the sound of Bill’s footsteps on the stairs is enough to make me grind my teeth. Instead of enjoying lunch together I would rather read a magazine while eating leftovers cold from the fridge.

Rather than have adult conversation I prefer doing my workouts in front of the TV losing count of my sit-ups as I watch sitcoms from the seventies or a rerun of last night’s “The Daily Show.”

There are definite advantages to having Bill work from home. He can take the children to school, and walk the dog. He can pick up one kid as I head in the opposite direction with our other one. He can ride bikes with the boys before dinner. He can make dinner.

Still, I find myself feeling irritated and ungrateful. I hunch over my desk rearranging files into different piles, as he lies on the couch looking at a magazine. I schedule extra-curricular activities that will keep the boys separate from each other and enriched at the same time. Then I pay the bills while planning play dates. Trudging through my Ground Hog Day of a To-Do list is bad enough without having an audience. Though technically he is working. He’s getting ready to do a casting and is waiting for gold to arrive.

The worst part of our “togetherness?” The second I start to write I find him right behind me.

“Want to walk the dog with me?”

“Mmmm, that’s OK.” My eyes don’t leave the computer screen but my hands freeze just above its keys.

“What are we having for dinner?”

It’s 10:30 and I have not digested my breakfast. I have yet to figure out how I am going to manage to escape for lunch to get a roast beef sandwich and eat it in my car in front of the library. Which is my best chance for writing quietly today. The fridge contains leftover spaghetti sauce but eating that involves more work than I want. Transferring it to a pan. Heat. Time. Cleanup. Not to mention the pressure to make lunch for my husband.

“Umm, could we talk about it later?” I try to finish the sentence I had been typing before I was interrupted.

“Are you going to the store?” Oh, God, is he still talking to me?

“Yes!” I answer sharply. Shit. If I go to the store for groceries I will have to return home to drop them off before heading to the library with my sandwich. Or I could get my sandwich first and go to the store later when I get the kids. Perhaps I could drop off the kids and then run to the store for dinner stuff.

FedEx is at the door and Bill signs for his package. Finally! He leaves to take the dog for a walk. I take a long breath. I have twenty minutes until I hear the jingle of her collar and the clunk of the gate.

I must be gone before then.

I gather my notes, laptop and water bottle, bending down along the way to pick up stray socks, pants and underwear, discarded mere inches from giant hampers. In the bathroom I stop myself from looking at my reflection for fear of noticing too much. My real concern about LASIK surgery is that the mess will be vividly clear.

I used to be thrilled at the constant togetherness my husband and me shared. I was amazed at how well we got along being around each other so often. I couldn’t wait to see him.

Lately it’s more like, “How can I miss you if you won’t go away?”

As soon as I actually start to believe that my children have turned a corner off Obnoxious Street onto Moderately Tolerable Avenue I come to my senses. Who knew that the moaning and whining over who gets to sit on which couch would be the latest catalyst? And of course they cannot share a couch with me if it means sharing with each other. Rather than act as a buffer between them I become the magnifier of their white hot hate for each other.

So my super smart son got into the GATE program at his elementary school for gifted and talented kids. Now he has no interest. "Extra work? No thanks! If I'm gifted I should have to do less work, not more."

To whom it may concern,

I have over ten years professional experience in retail. I have worked in sales, merchandising, customer service and administration.

While I have not been paid for my hard work since I left the glamorous world of retail ten years ago, I have never stopped honing my skills. I am more detail oriented than ever. Managing a house comprised of males with toys containing many parts I am constantly on my toes. Planning playdates and fielding calls from the principal’s office has helped my customer service skills.

With several schedules on the calendar I have become a time management expert. Running my family I am the consummate team player. Raising two competitive boys has helped me become the master of diplomacy.

I am looking forward to an opportunity where I can put all of my skills to good use and finally get paid again!

Thank you for your consideration,

seriously-how can socks ruin an otherwise perfectly good morning?

Is helping your child do homework supposed to be excruciatingly painful?

Is parenting supposed to be this annoying?

All three boys off riding bikes. I am so happy to be alone I can barely stand it.

I am trying to relax and breathe but it for a change everything seems so good.

I need something to complain about but for the moment I can't think of anything.

Phew! Compulsive worrying is exhausting.

I can't wait each morning for the door to close behind them. The moments my kids are out of the house and out of sight I can finally breathe. I stop chanting "Get out get out get out!" in my mind and sing happily out the window "Bye! Love you-see you later!"

I can think about how much I love them and not how annoying it is searching (again) for two pairs of socks each morning and finding one hundred non matching socks. Even when I buy a bag of socks, within weeks they morph into some other size and shape. Seams become stiff. Heels become scratchy.

I run to my computer to start my day. Emails. Celebrity blogs. News. Weather.

My to do list. Hmmm...what to put off first?

Is that sliver of my personality that thinks I am crazy actually keep me from being crazy? Do crazy people know they are crazy? There are times when I feel so overwhelmed I expect CPS to show up at my door and take away my kids. There are times when I want CPS to show up at my door and take them!

The first day of the second week of school. Ahh! The silence is so comforting.

All I hear is the hum of the refrigerator and an occasional passing car.

I feel the same hum throughout my body. I am filled with a hopeful anticipation. I am putting off the long list of projects; the same items remain on my to do list day after day. My fear is that once I begin one of those projects I will no longer be filled with the anticipation, but more likely the negative feeling of dread that I will never finish. The dread that I will fail at whatever I try.

Today is still filled with possibilities for success. I have not started anything on my list today. No way to fail if I don't try.