We ate more consolation pie last night.

For those of you keeping track, we've eaten more than our share of it the last year or so. It's starting to feel like a habit.

Don't worry. We're still not eating humble pie. (Never that.)

Turns out lemon pie is still good mixed with tears. Maybe even better.

I went with Caleb to the state science fair last night and watched him walk away empty-handed and swallowing back tears, experiencing equal parts sorrow and bafflement. He practically ran ahead of me towards the car, trying to avoid eye contact because then the real tears would start. As I trailed along drowning in his wake and my own possessive, protective feelings, I felt like one of those little league parents who yells at volunteer umpires when their boy gets strike three. Turns out I'm this close to being a "stage mom." The pageant circuit is just one false step away. I had no idea.

David is much more logical. Trying to talk me down from my (irrational) frustration. Or up from my (self-destructive) discouragement.

Maybe he's right. Just once, I wish he wasn't.

That somehow I could be the one who was reasonable and logical and calm.

I stood poised with my camera all night. At the ready to capture Caleb's inevitable moment of elation. Is it pride? Is it ignorance? Is it blind, motherly adoration? Is it the fact that these little human beings were once housed inside of me? Can I really be expected to act like a normal, rational, unbiased human being after that?

I think it's clear that whatever it is, I could use another piece of consolation pie.

With plenty of whipped cream. Motherhood is a blood sport. And I need provisions.

I just hope I can hold it together tonight at Olivia's softball game. It's the season opener. And David will die of shame if I have to be escorted from the field.