A few days ago, Aaron took the boys--all the boys--to get some pizza for dinner and a couple things at the store. On those rare occasions when I have a few minutes alone, I usually read or do something else that is just more enjoyable when it's quiet. However, on this occasion, I found myself strangely drawn to the wooden train track set that the boys got for Christmas. I really ought to hate the sight of those wooden tracks, after all the times I have gotten them out, put them away, seen them scattered, picked them up, set them up, set them up again after they had been knocked down about twelve times, and had to deal with the boys either sitting on the spot where I'm trying to set them up or them driving the train on the track before I can finish, making it very difficult to, in fact, finish. But I don't hate them. Instead for some reason, I'm kind of itching for a chance to build them alone, with no interference. Then, I feel, I could build a truly brilliant track, and the boys would come home and be amazed. I suppose, really, that all I want is a little feeling of control, the illusion that I am still able to have a say in my life. Because, as a mom, I generally feel that my choices are limited. It's my responsibility to take care of them, and therefore, I get up when they get up, and I watch Kung Foo Panda again, even though I have by now seen it at least 12 million times (it actually is still funny though), and I do all the other things that moms do, whether I really want to or not. So it's nice to feel like I still have a choice. Even if it is a silly choice like playing with train tracks when there are a host of other things I could be doing.