The Winter of My Discontent

I am trying really hard to pick my head up off the desk and see the green grass growing on my own side of the fence. This is figuratively speaking, of course, as our grass is once again covered in snow. Literally and figuratively.

It's not a big deal. I just reconnected with a friend from college. I was looking through his pictures on Facebook, and oh my, does he have a lot of traveling pictures. He also has a son that's one month younger than Sascha. So I'm looking at happy pictures of his happy, sweet-looking wife and happy toddler snuggling on the train in Switzerland... smiling in Barcelona... posing at Lake Como. Ouch. Obviously he wouldn't take pictures of his kid having a tantrum, but just the fact that they could travel with him in the first place is kind of painful to see (um, and the fact that they are traveling at all, that they have more than three figures in the bank, is hard to see too... Nick and I are hoping to be able to travel for our tenth anniversary... in 2015). It takes us three days to recover from a single flight to Omaha with Sascha. I saw these pictures last night, after she had spent about 75% of her evening screaming and/or in time out. She did it through Sesame Street, her favorite episode. She did it through dinner. She did it through her bedtime routine, and when I went to kiss her goodnight, she pushed me away.

My gut is leaning more and more towards one kid.