Last night I held down the fort by myself for pickup/dinner/bath/bed. Despite some initial fear and loathing slash desperate calls to both my brother and sister for help (turns out they have lives) … ladies and gentlemen, I kicked that pickup/dinner/bath/bed’s ass. YESSIR.

Behold: DINNER. (There was also spaghetti.)

Next, I got this kid clean (Oh, let’s face it — he gets himself clean. I Instagram.) …

… while this kid vegged out in front of the TV. (OK, so maaaaybe we should downgrade that “kicked ass” to a nice solid “accomplished it without screams, tears and/or injuries.” Also: It was a Barbie movie about some princess queen drinking a potion that made her fall in love with Ken and hold him hostage or something like that. Minus 100 points.)

Of course, all of this was made possible by the fact that this kid fell asleep at 6:45.

Parenting: I GOT THIS.*

*The validity of this statement is subject to change based on current events and can be revoked at any time.

Editor’s note: We’ve traveled back in time a bit to recount the beginning of Rachel’s life as a mom of three. She lives with her husband and brood in Decatur. She blogs at yestertimeblog.com.