How to Tie a Tie

If you met me
in the grocery store
or at a concert
or we chatted in front of the day care center
about cars
and school pictures
you'd think I was peppy and smily and cheery.
And I am.
If you knew me only from the blog I write,
you'd think I was miserable
and whiny
and, well, dull.
And I am.
Most mornings I wake up
to the sun shining through the bedroom window
and Iain crying
Maaaammma
from his crib.
We sit in the armchair
reading books about
trains
dump trucks
fire engines
He's all boy.
I cut up pears
and strawberries
and cantaloupe.
We always said we wanted him to eat heatlhy.
I get through this just fine.
Peppy, smily, cheery.
But then we drive to preschool.
And I remember Dallton getting dressed for work
tucking in his dress shirt,
spraying the Vera Wang,
telling Iain how some day
he'd show him how to tie a tie.
And I cry.
But not for long.
It's only 15 minutes to the school.
This is my day.
90% cheery, smiley, peppy.
10% sad.
I blog the sad
because it's not normal.
I don't know what to do with it.
I didn't blog when Dalton sprayed his Vera Wang
and tied his tie.
I had other things to do.