He’s doing the pile of dishes downstairs cause the cleaning people are coming at 9AM. We’re cleaning so they can clean. I’m spraying Shout on the white pillowcase that is slaughtered with drippings from Matthew’s 3AM bloody nose. Mae is trying to attach her homemade wooden unicorn horn to the sparkle headband she dug out of the Halloween trunk in the basement. She gets it attached and Matthew tells her the horn could be considered a weapon and she’ll get kicked out of school. This devastates Mae, and she hates Matthew for always being a risk assessor, but she comes up with a strategy and says that she’ll quickly remove the headband if anyone considers the horn a weapon.
Jon is singing loudly. He sings in the morning and claps loudly. It’s annoying but I stop for a moment and think of what life would be like without hearing him sing every morning. It would be terrible and lonely. I can hear him all the way upstairs and I am grateful for him, for the singing and the dishes. I stop and thank God.
No one can find socks, because the bucket is in the basement from the other day when I was going to sit down there and dedicate time to partnering them, but I got distracted by a box of old photos. I hate how I thought I looked fat in the pictures. The socks without partners are really a problem. I feel like I think about them a lot. Here I am writing about them again. I really don’t understand why I don’t throw them away and go binge with 100 bucks at Walmart and start fresh. I’m doing that today. I mean they’re just socks for God sake. Maybe I could make puppets out of some of them. I’m not making puppets.
The bloodstains are coming out, but I don’t have time. I spray the pillowcase down, throw it on top of the stacked laundry baskets and head down. It’s like a daring death walk trying to navigate down the stairs in business casual and a semi-obstructed view from stacked laundry baskets with broken handles. Halfway down the stairs I realize my work badge is on my nightstand. I trudge the baskets down two flights of stairs to the basement, throw in a pile of laundry and head back up to get my badge and apply more deodorant and grab a handful of Tampax for the day.
The kids are pondering what you can do with cream cheese. “It’s not just for bagels. Can it be put it on toast or is that just butter and jelly? Some people like it on raisin toast. I hate raisins. Mom puts it in potatoes. It’s not just for bread stuff, it’s for dips and party foods." They are amazed by their discoveries and decide that we should always have cream cheese in the fridge, cause it’s like Ketchup.
Jake is staring out the window at all the fat robins in the yard. They are so plump, I don’t understand how they take flight. Matt grabs the binoculars and spots the fattest robin. From a distance, it looks like a small dog. This sets us all off into fits of laughter. We each take a turn mocking her through the binoculars. I realize it’s not so nice. I feel bad that we’re picking on this poor lady. I think how bad it would suck to be a bird, especially a female. Especially since it just snowed again and she probably has no nest ready, and where the hell is the man bird? I make a note to Google information about robins and as the fat robin flies away, I tell the kids that she’s amazing. That she’s fat cause she has like four giant blue egg babies in her belly. That she ate a lot over the Winter, so she could have the energy to face the Spring. That she’s trying to find worms and sticks and soft stuff before she runs out of time and her kids come plopping out. That she’s gotta work her ass off flying, and gathering, and worrying, and always searching, and wondering, and reassessing, and second guessing, and obsessing, and taking baths in cold dirty turd-laden rain water!
They’re all looking at me, and I turn to them and say, “But she can still fly,” and we head out the door to face the day.