I’d like to say that I got up earlier than usual, just so I could post, but that would be a lie. I’m running late. I haven’t had my coffee. But I know when I go to read my favorite blogs and they haven’t updated, I get grouchy. Grouchy! How lame is that, to let the Information Superhighway dictate your moods? Y’all are great writers and photographers — I need my fix of your art. Oh, yeah — you’re great moms, too. But today, that is third on the list of your accomplishments.

* We’re still planning on moving to Iowa. No job offers yet. In the meantime, maybe I should…

* Get a job. Because in the field I work in, like most fields, it helps to know people. Here I know people, there I do not. It would probably be easier to transfer laterally then to try to jump UP into the field.

* Found a great babysitter.

* Then yesterday Wacky Boy gets the biggest owie he’s ever had in his life. It didn’t require an ER visit, but believe me, this one was a doozy.

* He was a half-inch from requiring stitches.

* Then we talk last night, Hockey God and me, about the old dilemma: Work or not work? Yes, I know, Internet, what a dilemma! What a spoiled bitch I am, to have enough cash on hand to be able to make this decision! (Those of you who are single moms, who maybe have unemployed husbands, who have loser boyfriends, who have to leave your kid(s) with a sitter you’re not happy with, because of money, those of you whose families give you no support — I am sorry. You don’t deserve that shit, and I mean it. I don’t know how you deal. But you’re dealing. And years from now, your kids will say thanks. Believe me. I grew up with a single mom and she was like mother lion the way she dealt. It made us all stronger.)

* Every penny I make goes to daycare. (I don’t make that much.) (Yes, I have a B.A. It’s in English.) (Those of you studying the liberal arts? Transfer to science, technology and medicine.)

* Also, we hate the Portland Public School District. In case you were wondering. Should we go private? We can’t move to the west side — I am an east side girl. If we go private, then every penny I made would go for tuition. And aftercare. OK, I’d need a raise. (The rest of our income covers the other bills.)

* Hockey God says, stay home and write. Sell a book. Watch our kids so they don’t get banged-up at the babysitter’s. Damn, did you see the size of that goose egg? Damn. (Huge bloody contusion, too. Poor kiddo.)

* Then I have a dream: I’ve written a great play. I will sell it. These producers want it. But first: I have to color the cover. I am bad at coloring. I can’t find the right color crayon. I am a bad person. I need to add some computer graphics to the top. I do not know how to do this. I try to talk my husband into doing it for me. I hate graphics programs. I Am Writer, Not Graphic Artist. He refuses. “You need to learn how to do this yourself!” He is pissed. Where is my mother in this dream, you wonder? She’s sitting next to my husband. She’s smiling at him. She’s saying, you are such a good provider! You are such a good husband and father!

You really need to learn how to use the computer! he yells at me.

I don’t know how to do that, I scream back, just like you don’t know how to scrub toilets! The room goes quiet. Did I mention my entire family is there? And his?

I wake up panting. And now, late for work.

* I need some coffee.

* Go read The Feminine Mistake, by Leslie Bennetts. We’ll discuss later.

xxox

wm