Okay, so I'm not on the road right now, at this very moment. But I was a few weeks ago. I meant to tell you all about it (only the good parts, not the stuff that would make your eyes glaze over with boredom. Although now I want a glazed donut, which is a bad thing since I've decided to not eat so much sugar anymore. Never mind that as I write this, I am chewing on some candy to calm my nerves. Speaking of calming my nerves, if I use sugar to do that, does it mean I'm addicted? Is this an addiction?), but every time I sit down at the computer, someone little appears at the door and says something like, "Hey Mom, will you take me to the library? or "Is it bad that a loaf of bread is on fire in the microwave?" or "Will you take us swimming?" or my favorite, "I am so booorrredd. Let's do something!" I am sure I didn't do this to my own mother when I was younger. I'm sure that when my mother looked over the vast expanse of summer on the first day of vacation she saw only blue skies ahead. I don't recall ever being naughty or demanding. (Except for that one time when someone wrote my name and address and "hot" on the wall all the way up the stairs. I still think I was framed on that one, having no recollection of committing the crime myself.)
I've decided to stop waiting for a large chunk of time to update the blog and just take what I can get when I can get it. I've finally accepted that there will never be a large chunk, only microscopic morsels. After all, I believe that motherhood is all about survival--doing what works for you so you can get some sleep and maybe a little peace every so often. Though I've consumed about three hundred popsicles so far this summer, sleep and peace have been hard to come by. I find myself skimming decorating magazines and rearranging furniture, some of the few things the kids will allow me to do that do not directly involve or benefit them. I suddenly want to rip up the carpet and knock down some walls. I find paint brushes in the closet and stroke them as I inhale the musty scent of old paint, smiling wickedly as I consider what project to tackle next. These are sure signs that I'm starting to lose it.
Recently, I dug up a David Sedaris essay called "Let It Snow" that sums up how I'm starting to unravel. When an unexpected snow storm hits North Carolina, Sedaris and his siblings get a five day vacation from school. The kids, of course, are ecstatic. But Sedaris' mom resents the intrusion. "Our presence had disrupted the secret life she led while we were at school," Sedaris writes, "and when she could no longer take it she threw us out. It wasn't a gentle request, but something closer to an eviction. 'Get the heck [my word] out of my house,' she said."
I think I know how she feels. Three and a half more weeks my friends, and then the house is mine, all mine.
