Other signs of health:
- There is a reasonable amount of frozen food piled in the freezer drawer. When I have to rearrange the boxes of frozen waffles, Trader Joe's tamales and assorted Processed Organic Crap every time I open the freezer, just so I can shut it again, all is not well in the village. Likewise when the refrigerator shelves boast nothing but a few whithered carrots and a jar of mayonnaise. If there is no frozen food and the fridge is stuffed with fresh produce and meats, I'm either exceedingly energetic or about to go mad.
- The ratio of time I spend on housewifery and on-the-clock mothering is equal to or less than the time I spend writing, doing yoga, or dancing around the attic with Harvey Danger on my iPod.
- The strength and fortitude to "waste" baby sitter time on the above.
- When my feisty 2-year-old starts torturing her big brother, I knock her down with tickles and start a rolicking game of chase with them both throughout the house. This happens far less often than I'd like to say. But it replaces the depressed behaviors, such as yelling and hiding in the bathroom.
Last night we got home in the middle of the night after ten hours of travel and a drive from Sea-Tac in freezing rain. Matt and I put the children to bed directly, then scarfed frozen junk food (Amy's Quiche Florentine) while standing at the kitchen island. We continued our snippy argument over who was more of a jerk in the airport.
"You know," he said, "sometimes when you get tired, you act like you're about 12 years old."