September 23, 2006

The Myth of Sisyphus' Mother

Get out of bed. Take toy box and bucket of blocks out of the closet.

Get baby out of bed. Change baby's diaper. Dress baby. Unfold baby's chair. Feed baby. Wipe baby clean. Wipe baby's chair clean. Fold baby's chair. Wash baby's dishes. Put dishes away.

Play with baby. Baby takes blocks out of block bucket. Baby takes shoes out of shoe boxes. Baby takes cups and bowls out of cabinet. Baby empties diaper bag. Baby takes books off of bookshelf. Baby takes toys out of toy box. Baby takes magazines out of magazine rack. Baby tears pages out of magazines.

Change baby's diaper. Unfold baby's chair. Feed baby. Wipe baby clean. Wipe baby's chair clean. Fold baby's chair. Wash baby's dishes. Put dishes away. Take baby's soiled clothes off and put clean clothes on. Rock baby. Put baby to bed.

Put blocks back in block bucket. Put shoes back in shoe boxes. Put cups and bowls back in cabinet. Re-pack diaper bag. Put books back on bookshelf. Put toys back in toy box. Throw magazines away. Collect pages torn out of magazines and throw them away. Empty the trash. Replace trash bag.

Get baby out of bed. Change baby's diaper. Unfold baby's chair. Feed baby. Wipe baby clean. Wipe baby's chair clean. Fold baby's chair. Wash baby's dishes. Put dishes away.

Play with baby. Baby unfolds basket of folded laundry. Baby disassembles cordless phone. Baby hides pieces of disassembled cordless phone. Baby scatters Cheerios through three rooms. Baby unrolls toilet paper. Baby shreds unrolled toilet paper. Baby takes toys out of toy box. Baby dances on scattered Cheerios and crushes them to a fine powder. Baby discovers Inbox on desk. Baby empties Inbox. Baby takes blocks out of block bucket.

Change baby's diaper. Unfold baby's chair. Feed baby. Wipe baby clean. Wipe baby's chair clean. Fold baby's chair. Wash baby's dishes. Put dishes away. Take baby's soiled clothes off and put clean clothes on. Rock baby. Put baby to bed.

Re-fold basket of laundry. Search for pieces of disassembled cordless phone. Reassemble cordless phone. Vacuum Cheerios. Empty vacuum. Collect shredded toilet paper and throw it away. Replace roll of toilet paper. Put toys back in toy box. Refill Inbox. Find another piece of cordless phone. Disassemble and reassemble cordless phone. Put blocks back in block bucket.

Put toy box and bucket of blocks back in the closet. Go to bed.

Get out of bed. Take toy box and bucket of blocks out of the closet...


(The Myth of Sisyphus tells of a figure in Greek mythology who was condemned to spend eternity pushing an enormous rock to the top of a mountain. Each time he reached the peak the rock rolled back down and Sisyphus had to push it all the way up again.)




September 15, 2006

My Dream House

My dream house is round. There are no corners to hide wheeled toys or hair brushes from unsuspecting feet; no sharp edges to threaten tender temples or shins. If I can't find my keys or my kid, I just keep turning until they appear.

There are tiered shelves along the wall all the way around, and every twelve inches there's a hook attached to the bottom shelf. I never have to put anything away, because everything sits on a shelf or hangs on a hook.

My floor is an extraterrestrial material that looks like hardwood, wears like berber, feels like warm sand, and smells like fall. It absorbs crumbs, spills, dust, lint, odors, calories and fatigue.

The large windows are smudge-proof, streak-proof and break-proof. They're made of one-way glass, which means I can wear morning face with confidence and dance around in pink long johns and an orange Xanadu sweatshirt without fear of discovery.

Instead of a ceiling I have a domed skylight that never leaks or ices over. The glass retracts with the touch of a button, as a floor panel gently lifts me to the roof deck where my husband waits by an outdoor fireplace - with a gourmet organic meal and an unquenchable interest in my day.

There are no phones. There is no television. There are complete, mint-condition collections of Emily Dickinson, Ernest Hemingway, Robert Frost, Maya Angelou and Corduroy.

Clusters of self-feeding tropical plants maintain a perfect humidity balance and an internal temperature of 70 degrees.

There's a sound wave vacuum system in the wall that automatically adjusts a toddler's piercing scream to an "inside voice".

But the very best thing about my dream house is my bathroom. It's spotless, soundproof, completely impenetrable, and invisible to everyone on the planet except me.




September 06, 2006

Things I Hope I Never Have To Say Again

Please don't lick the baby.

No, honey, don't wipe your hiney with mama's toothbrush.

Honestly, Doctor Martin, I have no idea how she did it.

As a matter of fact, I know exactly how many balls of wet paper towel fit into our VCR at one time.

She was here just a second ago...

I think she ate a piece of rotten apple, but it could have been a sponge.

Dear God, what is that smell?

Really, I wish you'd let me pay you for the damage.

How on earth did you get up there?

I hope that was oatmeal, not vomit.