the groaning sounds of my tormented dog ricochet around the room and parades the full theatricality of my life. 10 days of single-parenting. again. the dominant, recurrent, indubitable theme of my life. my sons are three and a half years old. everytime I look at them my heart reels with admiration. they're my trophy. I've survived. and if life is fair, motherhood should now involve minimal difficulty and effort. but then I think. hey. if life was fair, my maiden name would not be Bang.
every morning I strap on a backpack of lingering exhaustion gently, yet assiduously, deflecting all domestic duties. today I am imbued with stiffness, a sad result of my pitiful attempt at jogging two days ago, and try to navigate a happy balance between quality time and kids cable network. but when I told my mother over the phone that Sean and Will had been watching tv for 3 hours, she kidnapped them for the evening and is now holding them for acceptable ransom. that is, my two-hour napped, sane headed, remote-control freed, vitamin c-ed self. and I think, that's pretty fair.