Has anyone else ever noticed that motherhood – well, at least the early years, since that’s all I can speak to – is filled with highs and lows that happen within seconds of each other?  One second your newborn is screaming her head off mercilessly in the backseat and you have to bite down on your hand to keep from screaming yourself.  The next you’re holding her, she’s sighing contented sighs between gulps of milk, and the two of you are happy, albeit on the side of the road.

Or like the other night, while I frantically sautéed some squash, one by one Catherine picked up her peas and released them from her outstretched hand to the floor, staring me down defiantly.  She banged her hands on the high chair tray.  She yelled at me impatiently.  If she’d had a whip she would have used it.  I don’t know what it is about crying and whining, but it’s got to be more effective than water torture.  She had me in tears.  And yet.  Moments later, she had her squash and was shoving it in her mouth appreciatively, all the while casting winning smiles in my direction.  And all was okay.  I made a drink and leaned against the counter, watching her fill her belly with good food.

Come to think of it, I guess it all depends on when Catherine decides to scream, and when she decides to stop.