It’s 2am and for the second night in a row I’m up making favors for my grandmother’s surprise birthday party later today. I volunteered to make them, I find this kind of work soothing; I like knowing that I made a contribution.

As I work, I think about our lives. You are a good husband. You provide for us; for our children with a single minded purpose. You are kind, thoughtful; you often beat yourself up over little things. And, I love you, but still in the past year, I’ve been interested in sex less and less. I know that I am still attracted to you. I know I like sex. I’m not sure what the problem is.

We have to drive two hours south to get to tomorrow’s birthday party. I’m nearly done with the favors. When finished there will be sixty red and white boxes in all. Each box will contain one brownie with a flourish and her age as well as one with a peach rose. I made good progress this week pacing the work. The boys make it impossible to do any decorating during the day; I knew the bulk of the work would be post 9:30 pm.

Because I couldn’t work on the favors during the day, I spent my time focusing on other things. I feel like my time has been spent productively. In addition to playing with the boys, I washed the diapers, did a couple loads of random laundry as well as a couple with items I thought we might like to wear while we’re out of town. I confirmed the kennel, requested and confirmed delivery of the dog’s vaccination records. I talked to my client twice, worked on four projects and began to brew ideas for another that’s upcoming. The boys and I ran out and picked up the birthday present we needed. The right store wasn’t close, but why give a present that isn’t what she needs?

The baby cries. You get up and try to comfort him but he can’t be consoled. He wants something, he’s hungry and you can’t provide what he’s looking for.

We still don’t have anything packed to wear. The favors still aren’t completed. I’m still not sure how I’m going to make the green beans that I was also asked to provide for the party. I still haven’t corralled the Christmas presents I forgot when we celebrated with the family back in December.

Our older child cries out, you don’t stir. I go to him, he’s still asleep but talking about needing dry pants. I check; he’s dry. I put him on the potty; sure enough, he pees.

I am tired. Your snores tick a regular rhythm like the second hand of a clock. I get back to work; making icing roses in time. Place, pull, wrap. One, Two, Three petals. One, two, three, four…

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