This past Saturday night, The Little Prince invited one of his friends to sleep over. All day long, Luca tried to contain his excitement and failed miserably.
"Mom, what time is it now?"
"1oam. He'll be here in six hours."
"Okay."
Ten seconds pass.
"Mom, what time is it now?"
Tick. Tick. Tick.
At long last, the brass woodpecker on the front door heralded an arrival and Augie came whirling in. Suddenly, chaos was in blissful reign at The Kenmore Arms. They dashed up to his bedroom and proceeded to methodically take it apart. Bangs and thuds, punctuated by bursts of laughter, filled the air. I affected an air of nonchalance and tried to hum over it.
After dinner, I was informed there was an impromptu performance I needed to attend. Amps were plugged in. Windows were shut. Fingers were crossed that no neighbor was turning in early. 
After they brought down the house, it was time to make popcorn and engage in a vigorous discussion of where we would choose to travel if our beds were equipped with magic knobs.
Then it was time to take a very close look at the whole situation. 
Then it was time to leap on the furniture, chase the cats, race each other upstairs, jump on the bed, not brush teeth, wriggle around under the covers, announce a dozen times they were going to stay awake all night, and then promptly fall asleep. Then, all too soon, silence.
It was 9:30 pm.
The Divine Italian had gone on a grueling bicycle ride that morning and was snug in bed already. The night was mine.
As I settled in to read this book (which I'm obsessed with)...
...I thought to myself how apt the title was, as life was indeed just that, a fine balance. For most of my life, I've been convinced that happiness is self-determined, a result of reaching goals and keeping commitments. Now I'm equally convinced that happiness lies in anarchy. The more I relinquish my expectations, the more I open the door to experiencing something truly wonderful, like, say, the unholy screechings of two electric guitars.