I forgot that any good book (not just the Twilight series) turns you into a bad mother. Lunch is a little late. A diaper may or may not get changed. PJs are all of the sudden an acceptable daytime attire for a four and a 1/2 year old. Perhaps it’s the ability to stand over the kitchen table or sit right in the middle of the playroom with book in hand that gives the illusion you’re engaged, fooling yourself and your little ones that mommy is on top of everything. Then reality sets in when a fight escalates to punches or the bathroom sink begins to overflow and you are five seconds (or minutes) too late to rescue anyone or anything … but at least you got to the end of the chapter. What makes the situation worse is when you are reading a Jodi Picoult novel about a mother who is struggling with the fine line of trying to do the right thing for her kids, yet maybe doing the wrong thing in the long run. Like most her books, it is filled with plenty of guilt, neglect and confusion. And although the plot lines are very differenent those emotions are at least somewhat similar to what I experience when I try to make room for my personal R&R. However, I will be the first to say that I am a better person and mom for having a little time to myself even with the madness of our house swirling around us.
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