Routine, Remix.

In the almost two years since I became a parent, the mundane routine of my life sometimes takes me down a dark and depressing road. But one of my favorite parts of the day is bedtime and immediately after. There's such a finality to the day, the first point since about 8 am that I've been able to inhale and exhale in the same second, and can stop and look back at another day down -- good, bad or ugly, it's done.

The bedtime routine itself is predictable and set. Diapers are changed, fish are bed, last call bottles are dispensed (yeah, she still has a bedtime bottle... we're working on it). Sophie Bears are summoned and snuggled into and last kisses are doled out. I turn on Nine Inch Nails on her boom box in her bedroom, a gift from her beloved Uncle Ham, and I shut the door behind me.

Then I breathe.

That's when my last routine of the day begins -- picking up her toys. It's something I find extreme comfort in. The blocks go back into their box. The blankets get folded up and put back on the chair. The babies go in specific order in her little chair, which she will go to first thing in the morning and kiss them good morning. Her little kitchen is lined up with the decorative boxes along the window, which store DVDs (and I replace the DVDs she's become obsessed with plucking out throughout the day). Her ride-on car is placed in the threshold of her kitchen. The dishes and big wooden spoon she uses for snacktime are rinsed off and replaced in the sink of her kitchen.

The dog hair is swept up and vacuumed. The baby gates are set to Security Level Green, which means they're open and I don't have to keep smacking my shins against them as I hurdle over them. The stereo is turned off as I throw up a middle finger at the thought of listening to Kidz Bop one more goddamn time. The TV is set off of Nickelodeon and onto E! or VH1 or whatever random mindless crap I plan to stare at and zone out to shortly.

The day's done. She's gone to sleep. The toys are picked up. It's done. I've survived another day in a job I never thought I wanted, let alone would be able to successfully complete every day. I live to fight another day.

Bring on the liquor.