If you've heard this lament a thousand times, you can click away now and my feelings won't be hurt. But if you're a parent like me, and you feel guilty because evenings are so hard, read on. You're in the company of a friend now.

I get off at 6:00. My son's after-school program closes at 6:00. Luckily, my sweet husband gets off at 5:00 and can pick him up. I get home around 6:30, unless I have to stop at the grocery store. By the time I get home, my wonderful husband has either just started dinner or is halfway through it or already has it on the table ... or none of the above.

Bags dropped. Shoes off. Shout at the dog (Down! Down! Down!) one hundred times. Now I move on to whatever it takes to get food in all four of us. Sweetly encourage son to eat (Jack, eat your dinner, Honey) three or four times. Demand that son eat (Yes, Jack, you have to eat and you have to eat NOW!) three or four times. Fantasize briefly (I'm alone with my beloved husband in a romantic restaurant. The food is wonderful. The conversation is intimate. The wine is flowing ...), then give up on forcing son to eat.

Start son's bath. Get him and 27 toys into the tub. It's 7:15 now. Clear the dishes. Maybe wash them, maybe not. Pick up dirty clothes from morning. Take the dog out. Snarl back at dear husband, because it takes less energy to snarl than to argue about dirty dishes. Go through Jack’s backpack, checking to see if he got a smiley face in his planner.

 7:45. Get son out of tub, wrapped up in a towel the way only Mommy can do it. Find pajamas. They must be Superman, Batman, Spiderman or dinosaur pajamas; anything else is for babies. Help him dress so he can keep talking about his day. He can't talk about his day and get dressed at the same time, and I really do care about his day and this is the only time we'll have to talk. Present and discuss with him contents of his backpack and any notes in his planner. Homework at this stage is rare, thank goodness.

8:00. Or 8:15. Or 8:30. Son is in bed. Tickling is done. Talking about day is done. In lieu of his babyhood “Now I lay me…” prayer, we now each list the things we’re most grateful for, and the people we think need special blessings. Without fail, we each include the other in both categories.

At best, I’ve had 2 hours with my son. On a bad night it’s only an hour or an hour and a half.

How does this affect my son? My marriage? How do any of us bear it?