“We don’t see things as they are, we see them as we are.” — Anais Nin

How I see it: Dedicated, hardworking, stay-at-home mom who occasionally snatches a few minutes to write. Who sometimes sneaks in a phone call to a friend, or finds a half-hour block to make a series of business calls.

The way my kids see it: There’s the back of her head again. She’s always on the computer. She never pays attention to us. She never hangs up the phone. Here, I’ll scream and tip over the dog’s water bowl — that should get her attention.

I’d like to say that the truth lies somewhere in-between, but that’s not true. Their version is the “real” version. Anais Nin was right. So here I am, stalled out on another manuscript, trying to ignore the fact that Christmas is three weeks from today. New Year’s Day is four weeks from today. My husband and I will have been together ten years this May. Shouldn’t we do something fun? I mean — should we have a party? Take a trip? Get a babysitter for the weekend and go to the beach? The dishes are still undone. The laundry is never done. The house is a mess.

The kids and I played a lot today. I didn’t blog (until now), I didn’t read much. Last night I finished Mary Kay Andrews’ Savannah Blues — so good. I mean, yummy good. I mean “eating chocolate souffle with a girlfriend and catching up on the gossip” good. I’m working on Daddy Was a Number Runner. Put it on your list if you’ve never read this Louise Meriwether book about a 12-year-old girl, Francie, growing up in Harlem during the Depression. It’s an old favorite of mine. Also reading The Purpose-Driven Life, by Rick Warren, which isn’t my usual cup of tea, but I’m liking it in spite of myself. And in spite of: “Real believers understand that there is far more to life than just the few years we live on this planet.”

Yes, and “…there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy” (Shakespeare). But I don’t like anything that smacks of Tom Cruise. You know how I feel about Tom Cruise. The man is an idiot. I can’t wait until Katie Holmes dumps his short ass for a 6’5″ basketball player who could dunk him, one-handed. You know. The book reminds me a lil bit of Star Trek, or L. Ron Hubbard and his Cult of Personality, and a big ol’ spaceship whisking us all away… well. That’s not what Warren is trying to say, I don’t think. It’s just what pops into my head. He has some great quotes, though, including the Nin one I’m hinging this whole entry on.

Oh! And I’m reading Lupita Manana, too. It’s by Patricia Beatty, born in Portland, Ore., yay, yay, Portland girls!

My point (and I did have one, as Ellen Degeneres would say) was that I hung out with Wacky Boy this afternoon (he’s only in pre-k in the mornings). We snuggled and read Christmas books and played. Also, I volunteered all morning in his class (I have never in my life wiped so many runny noses, yick), so we spent the entire day together. Yes, I do rule, thank you. (Do you like how I want a big clap-hand for paying attention to my own kid? Damn, what a selfish wench I am. C’mon, Internet. I always find motherhood challenging — all those Duplos. All those wooden blocks. All those runny noses. And no matter what kind of mac and cheese you fix, it’s the wrong frickin’ kind of mac and cheese. Today my crime was: I buttered the bread. Apparently he just wants slices of dry bread. Not toasted. No peanut butter, honey or jam. Just bread. Lately I just have not had my head fully in the game. But it’s not in the oven, Sylvia! So yes! Give me a damn clap-hand. Thanks.)

Then we picked up his sis from school and I took them to the Star Wars exhibit at OMSI. Eh, I can’t really give you a thumbs-up on this one. A thumbs-akimbo, how about? They charged us extra for admission, even though we have a membership. (And no, I do not know who the people are in these Flickr photos, but aren’t they cute? Since I don’t run my own Flickr photos I thought I should give you, I dunno, something! So here you go… Leave comments for them, I’m sure they’d be thrilled.) Now, Star Wars. You can have Star Wars, here. All yours! Obi-Wan and Natalie Portman, Queen of the Universe, and those scary-furry white things. I don’t get Star Wars. I’ve tried to watch the original, dunno, ten or twelve times, and have been unable to stay awake during any of these viewings for more than ten minutes.

“Jaws was never my scene/
and I don’t like Star Wars/”

— “Bicycle Race,” Queen

There were about twenty sadsack middle-age guys snapping photos like mad, and dragging their poor bored children along. Kid #1: “Dad. Dad!!!!! I’m ready to leave.” Dad #1, huge grin on face: “Isn’t this just great? This is great!”

Uh, yeah. Whereas my kids were completely, thoroughly into it. Built robots, checked out the sand car (sorry I do not know lingo), loved the scary-furry white monster guy. Yeah. While I was all, “Kids. Kids!!!!!!!!!! I’m ready to leave.” Heh heh heh.

See you.

WM