1. migraine
2. migraine
3. bruise on my right arm
4. $51.46
5. eyeliner (haven’t worn this since junior prom)
6. an email from an old friend
7. bad advice
8. a house full of kids with diarrhea (ok, it’s only two kids, but any diarrhea is too much diarrhea)
9. sunshine and 40+ degrees (!)

• in the clean laundry
• in the dirty laundry
• on violet’s ceiling (3)
• on the toilet lid
• in the upstairs hallway
• under the couch

it’s good ladybugs are so small or i would be worried that hitchcock was coming with the birds to get me.

i know you’re dying to know what i decided to read.

• i made it through the complete idiot’s guide to buying and selling a home and i’ve decided not to buy a house.
• i had to return remarkable creatures to the library, but no big loss. i read the first few pages and could feel my bile rising. it was a definite no go.
• i swept through the final solution in an afternoon. michael chabon is brilliant. (and he’s the keynote speaker at AWP this april in denver!! and i’m going!! and that really deserves some serious multiple punctuation!!) but i found that the book ended too fast. i dunno. you read it and tell me what you think.
• the cold dish is still sitting in my library basket. i think. but i got my copy of a short history of women and i know it’s going to trump.
• and lonesome dove. oh my oh. lonesome dove. i am currently on page 438 and am utterly swept away. this book is beyond Epic. i love it. i really love it. i feel bad i’m typing this instead of reading lonesome dove. [i do have to tell you the truth though---it took me over 300 pages to get swept away. but now that i'm swept, i am Swept. i dare you to read this book to page 350. and if you're not swept by then, you can watch the miniseries.]

so what are you reading?

so, it’s been a tough few weeks. see the dishes piled everywhere. (i know, i hate plates covered in crusted spaghetti too.) and the laundry mountain in the basement is a little embarrassing. what if i vacuum up all the pretzels smashed between the couch cushions while you work some magic in the kitchen?

oh. you noticed that i haven’t finished my taxes. i can’t find a few of the forms. can your wand make them…. oh! it can. that’s terrific. and would you mind, while you’re at it, the tub could use a…. my. i’ve never seen it look so white. and you already managed to organize the toys and the junk drawer in the kitchen! and you found the leatherman and my stash of special dark M&Ms. huh. i guess you can have some. sure.

i had no idea you could just zap the kid’s colds. look at that! no more boogers and whining and crying and hanging onto my pant’s leg. i guess i can take all these crumpled, used tissues out of my pockets.

hey, i just opened the freezer. you managed to stuff a whole heck of a lot of girl scout samoa ice cream in there. how did you know it’s my favorite? oh. right. silly me. you’re my fairy godmother.

can you give me a magic hour to just sit on the couch, eat ice cream, and read my novel—-all by myself?

thanks, fairy godmother. you’re my best friend.

today was a day kind of like this one. i woke up attempting perkiness. (we had a hard day yesterday too.) i got the kids into the car for story time at the library. i drove to the library. i got the kids out of the car. no mishaps really. until we attempted to leave the library. i said, “let’s go,” and then someone flipped henry’s hellion switch. everything went beserk.

hal started running through the library screaming. it’s a small and very echo-y library.  i was toting violet in one arm and a bag of books in the other (fie on that julia child for making her recipe book so durn heavy)—i just couldn’t chase him. and he knew it. and he ran and ran and screamed and screamed while the mocha sipping college students looked at us with ember eyes. i eventually managed to drag him out of the library while still holding violet and the books. but i couldn’t get any further than the front door. he proceeded to tantrum outside the main gate for about a half an hour in a michigan february without a coat. i was trying to decide whether to run to the car and dump vi and the books and hope that henry would keep tantruming in the same location. or leave my wallet and books at the library entrance and drag both screaming kids to the car and then run back for the bag (hoping that no one would steal my copy of a short history of women and that dang-it heavy, curse-at-it cook book).

so, of course, i did what any embarrassed and mentally fried mother would do—i got out my cell phone and called my brother to see if he could drop everything he was doing, drive to the library, and manhandle henry into the car. in case you’re wondering, he didn’t answer. i finally got henry to follow me by telling him that violet’s hands had frozen. he said, “oh! let me see.” and i kept walking and told him he could see the frozen hands in the car. and he followed, sort of. before crumpling onto the sidewalk and continuing to scream.

once everyone was buckled in, i did the next logical thing. i put my head on the steering wheel and sobbed. and sobbed. and sobbed because so many people passed me as i held down the screaming, flailing, kicking me in the face toddler and the screaming baby and i felt utterly and completely without the imagination to get out of the situation. wit’s end. when your wits, for whatever reason, fail you.

i remember, back in college, thinking that finals week was hard. all that pressure and studying and stuff. sure, there were moments where i felt sort of inept and ready to do something else. but rarely did i find myself physically assaulted while being asked to come up with one of the most creative solutions of a lifetime. rarely did i have to take those tests outside in the snow without a hat holding a baby. (ok, never. i never had to take a test outside in the winter, or outside ever, for that matter.) rarely did i get so stumped on an essay that i just sat down and cried, failing to even attempt an answer. (i did cry at the AP calculus exam, but i’m not sure that counts.) rarely did the test include an actual impact on anyone’s life but mine, and even the impact on my own life was minor.

it makes you wonder then, doesn’t it, why these tests of mothering that put every skill, bit of wit, drop of imagination, ounce of will, mammoth strength, inner fortitude, and (in-short) demand that you—-in the face of public and weather and physical and emotional assault—-become wonderwoman, she-ra, and cheetara combined, get so little recognition.

i’ll tell you the truth, no one came up to me in the parking lot and said, “thank you, you hero, for saving the future generation from selfish meanness. thank you for dedicating yourself to raising two children who aren’t bullies, who have generosity and brilliance and humor. thank you for staying home day after day and enduring the monotony and torture and bursts of joy that come from turning your life over to someone else. thank you. god bless you. hallelujah. the world is not destined to become a disgusting cesspool because of you.”

yeah. no one said that. and even joe didn’t say something like, “wow. all of that and you still made indian lentil soup with yogurt. you rock.”

so. i’m going to say it for the world. (i think they want to, they just don’t know it.)

to all the mothers that stay at home: you rock. you inspire. you form the world. you are wonderwoman, cheetara, she-ra, and the mom from little house on the prairie swirled and combined. god bless you. and your families. god bless you.