I’m going to regret this post. I’ve avoided rants on this blog for a number of reasons, among them my great dislike for the word rant. It rubs me the wrong way, especially in its overuse. If the word is a big part of your blog, please don’t take offense. You shouldn’t care what I think. I’m only me. Well, I never imagined my first tirade would be about my sweet, amazing seven-year-old. But if it must, it’s really about myself. Days like this, I’m mystified – in fact, undone – by this beast called parenting. Because I come up short.

I’d just like to stay human as I find myself relegated to a parrot in my home. I tell my boy eight times to do his math. Six times to come here. Seven, to clean up his stuff. By the third repeat, he should hear the aggravation rising…