KATHRYN R. BIEL: AUTHOR

So, that's what the doctor said about my son today.  "He's perfect."  He says it almost every visit.  He's been saying it since Jake was an infant.  I never grow tired of hearing it. I know my son is not perfect.  He never has been, and never will be.  I could list his faults, but I won't.  They are for me to know and no one to find out.  Jake turned 8 yesterday, and I'm still marveling at how this could be.  How could my little boy be so grown up?  Where have the years gone?  Jake is growing into a wonderful young man.  He is so smart.  He has a great sense of humor. He's polite (to others at least), and kind and courteous.  He is honest, painfully so, and cannot tell a lie.  He really should have been born on February 22, to share the day with George Washington.  Jake is such a good kid.  He is that kind of guy. He was delighted with the ipod Pat and I gave him for his birthday.  I even pre-charged it and loaded up "his" music onto it.

I'm going on a much needed play date.  In 22 minutes.  I have to get through the next 22 minutes.  My husband has to get home.  I have to tune out the kids yelling at each other, and pretend that I don't see them attempting to hit/kick/bite each other.  21 minutes to go. The car is all packed.  I'm going to a friend's house, to scrapbook.  To sit with a bunch of women I don't know, and it will be great.  20 minutes. The children are now attempting to fart on each other.  In addition to being really loud, juvenile and annoying, the room (my bedroom, mind you) is getting smelly.  19 minutes. This week has been one of those overwhelming weeks where I'm just tired and running low on reserves.  I hope that my play date will help recharge the batteries.  18 minutes. Sophia didn't nap, yet again.  But tonight, it's totally not my problem (or, TNMP as Jake likes to say).  It's gonna be a long week home with the kids.  17 minutes. So, thank you Sue

I was so shocked to learn last night about the death of Whitney Houston.  Now, it's partly not really a surprise, given her on-going battle with drugs, but it was still shocking, seeming to come out of no where.  It is a terrible waste.  All that God-given talent, gone.  A 19 year old who now has to navigate the world without her mother.   I often lament the fact that I have no great talent.  I have minimal to moderate talents in lots of areas, but no one area where I really stand out.  Jack of all trades, master of none.  But, after hearing about Whitney Houston's death, sometimes I wonder if having a great talent is more of a burden than a gift.  It seems over and over that these people who are so incredibly talented and gifted in one area and grossly lacking in other areas.  This leaves them essentially incapable of functioning in real life.  Most often, they rely on excesses (speed, alcohol, drugs) to attempt to balance themselves out.  Their great talents are then waste

I have a confession to make. It's going to make me seem like a horrible person.  Ok, here it is...I hate putting my kids to bed every night. There, I said it. I know most parents cherish these precious moments, snuggling, reviewing the day, exchanging "I love yous" and saying prayers.  All that stuff, I like. But that's not what bedtime really is.  It is the kids getting wound up just as I say that it's time for bed (which is at 8 pm every night, and should come as no surprise).  It is trying to lie down with 2 kids in 2 separate rooms at the same time.  It is having to tell my daughter over and over that she needs to quiet down.  That she can't get up for another  drink. That whatever she has to tell me can wait for the morning.  Listening to her yelling over and over, louder and louder through the monitor, "Is it midnight yet?" Bedtime is a battle, a power struggle.  It often takes Sophia over an hour to finally go to sleep.  Sleep she desper