They also froze part of this disgusting concoction and had the nerve to ask me if they could bring it home. I laughed so hard. It felt good.

I did what I always do when I go to the city. I walked the streets.

As always, there was a lot to

I saw a lot of canines in strollers, which totally freaked me out. I mean, it kind of defeats the purpose of walking your dog, don’t you think?

I saw cuteness…

…and a soap opera star running towards the ABC Studios with his script in his hand. I wish I could tell you his name but I’ve been so long out of the loop. Trust me, it was him.

I saw a man I mentioned at Averil’s, half of whose head looked like it had been dunked in white paint. I thought of running ahead (no pun intended) and getting a better shot but quickly decided against it. Clearly he’s had enough challenge in his life. He didn’t need me interfering.

There were familiar skyscrapers seen from new angles.

Dancers in high places,

and books everywhere.

As we were leaving, my youngest daughter peered out the car window and said, “Mommy. War is coming, April 1st.”

The Big Bad City, always a pleasure.

Can you say cluttered? A lot of these books I’ve never read, nor do I plan to read. My beloved bought me Les Miserables because it’s one of his favorite stories. He got it for me years ago and there it sits, reminding me of what a loser I am. The Girl who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest? Sorry, never going to read it. It was hard enough getting through The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. Things I Want my Daughters to Know? A gift from someone who clearly doesn’t know me very well. The investment and business plan handbooks don’t belong to me, nor do the Michael Connolly works or the volumes on Frank Lloyd Wright.

I’d say the biggest thing these shelves say about me is how absent I am in them. I can count on one hand the books that matter.

This, of course, made me a little sad. After all, what kind of owner goes missing? So I thought about what I could add. There, do you see it, down on the right?

If you can’t tell, dust and me are tight.

Actually, my real shelf is right next to my bed. I thought of cleaning it up a bit before shooting it (notice my bite plate?) but if I can’t be true with my peeps, then who can I be true with?*

I found The Lacuna in the discard section of our library and, remembering how much Teri loved it, snatched it right up. One day I’ll get to it. I like seeing it peeking out at me, reminding me of what’s in store. Carol Shields’ Larry’s Party is still there. I’ll get back to it one day, right after I finish the awesome Magnum by Russell Miller. If I can’t be on the front lines in photography, at least I can read about others that were.

Right after I took this picture, I brought my kayak picture downstairs and put it up on the wall. This might surprise you but it’s the first picture of mine I have up. I’ve passed by it a few times today and I can’t begin to tell you how much happiness it brought.

Who knew that looking at a shelf of books could bring me closer to myself? Thank you, Lyra and Sarah. You really made my day.

*There was one teeny tiny thing I took out of the picture but only because it deserves its own post one day. Shhh. Between you and me, I’m thinking Averil’s place might be a better venue for that.

They show such little respect, expecting so much but giving back so little. It’s true, I can’t really fault them. They’ve never known anything different. They’ve never seen anything different.

I’m sorry but that’s no excuse. Our message is clear.

Show your gratitude.

Or you don’t get.

I used to pass this window all the time. It’s part of a brownstone in the West Village, below street level, a sliver of someone’s home. Growing up, something about it caught my fancy and each time I passed by it, my heart would long to get inside. The owner always had something on display, like a lemon on a matching towel, with formal silverware all lined up, as if they knew, their corner was longed for.

Sometimes it felt like they were dangling my desires in front of me. Na na na na na. Thank goodness I was a good girl. Otherwise, that window would surely have been broke.

This friend has a lot of help. I don’t mean to compare. After all, we all have our challenges but I bring it up because I wonder who’s better off in the long run.

I didn’t have any help. I had to suck it up. I didn’t have a choice. Sometimes you just gotta do what needs to be done. Sometimes there’s no time to contemplate needs or balance desires or consider options. Sometimes you just gotta do.

My friend’s first child is having normal reactions to the new baby. There are now sudden constraints on him that hadn’t existed before. He’s learning that he’s not the center of the Universe and it’s tearing my friend up.

I’m sure every first child in America goes through these same difficulties. My first went through it. How could she not? The thing is, I never had time to harp on it. I was in the shit. So what happened? My first born learned to suck it up, as did my second, as did my third, as did my fourth. Hell, they’re still learning it.

I don’t have time to make it all pretty for them. Snacks and lunches need to be prepared, breakfast needs to be made, shoes need to be tied. There’s always a bottom line. In terms of my morning, that bottom line is the bus. Suck it up and make it to that bus stop.

I can’t help but wonder about my friend. Will having the space and extra hands to help be more problematic in the long run? Is she setting herself up for a lifestyle that requires more hand holding?

Maybe she’s not capable of sucking it up. We all know people like this. We’ve read about them. People like Andrea Yates and Susan Smith. If that’s the case, my friend is the smartest person I’ve ever met in my life.

But what if she’s not? What if this is just an excuse? What if this is just the easy way out? And if so, does it even matter?

I don’t know. What I do know is that there’s a lot to be learned from sucking it up.

And I’m proud to be teaching it.

I wish you’d DIE! screamed my 9 year old to her older sister.

Oh, yeah? Well, I wish you’d never been BORN! replied her sister.

And then my 7 year old piped in.

I don’t think either of you really mean what you’re saying. I’m reading Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing and I’m learning that what you think is true is often times not really true. So even though you think you hate each other, you really don’t.

I kept my eyes on the road because if I had looked in the rear view mirror to meet this child’s eyes, I would have certainly veered off the road but believe me when I tell you that my heart just about exploded. This child was en route to receiving an award but she seemed more concerned with bringing peace and understanding to her sisters than she was with herself.

Last night was a big deal. Local politicians, principals, teachers and business owners came out on a weekday night to watch the presentation and applaud the winners. And, as she stood clutching her prize, all I could think was how comfortable she looked. There was my baby, center stage and poised, as if this experience was par for the course.

And that’s exactly what it was, par for her course.

Karma’s a bitch.

There I was, having just killed two flies in two days, basking in the sweet smell of human superiority, when karma showed up and bit me right in the head. Sure, we’ve all been known to act in inappropriate ways but advertising those ways in a sing song fashion, complete with photgraphy? That’s taking it to a whole new level. That’s usually when The Universe gets involved to slap you back down to your rightful place in the world. Let it be known… I have just been pimp slapped.

Two words for ya’ll.

Head lice.

It was 7:45pm, Sunday night. I was getting revved up to watch Madonna do her thing during half time. My two eldest girls were getting ready to tuck themselves in when my husband, who thought he had seen a bug swoop out of his own hair earlier and had came home immediately to treat himself to Nix (insert registered trademark here), decided to check my 9 year old’s head.

Um, you might want to see this.

I moseyed over to the couch and peered down my daughter’s backside. On her head were what looked like a thousand specks of dandruff. I looked at my husband. He looked at me. I looked back at him and together we silently screamed FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!! My sweet little girl, transformed into patient zero before my very eyes.

Do you remember what I looked like as a kid? Obviously lice and me were constant companions growing up. You’d think that my reaction might be a little more tame considering my history but, no, I was anything but calm.

For the next two hours I washed both my girls’ hair and nit picked living and dead lice out of their scalps. It was exhausting, humiliating and totally gross. We changed their bedding, bagged all their stuffed animals, and sent them off to bed. As I lay myself down to sleep, I turned on my own distorted reality and told myself that was it, we were done, and all would be well tomorrow.

Right. And if you believe that I’ve got a building to sell you.

The next day I discovered the battle had only just begun.  I shampooed myself and just about lost my lunch when a half dozen creepy crawlers were scraped from my head. My youngest daughter yielded similar results. Those damn critters were everywhere and the scariest part? We had no idea.

It is now Tuesday. More laundry has been washed in the last 24 hours than I think I’ve ever done in my life. 6 loads are folded in the basement, another 3 up on my bed, and one is in the washer right now.

There are 6 members of my family (including myself) walking around with traces of poison on our scalps. Will we experience some horrible side-effect because of that? Who the hell knows. Right now I’m too worried about the two things I know are true. One, I’m definitely not doing the Earth any favors and two, karma’s a bitch.

The more I think about it, the more the questions seem to multiply. Maybe I should take to the internet and  look up some popular idioms. Perhaps one will ring true and I can get on with my day.

You can catch more flies with molasses than vinegar. No, that’s not really the issue here. I mean, I already killed the buggers.

One dead fly spoils much good ointment. Okay, but what about two dead flies?

Do what we can, summer will have its flies. It’s February, dammit.

Foul-smelling objects swarm with flies. Speak for yourself, I shower every morning.

Flies swarm where there is honey. Haven’t you heard, I don’t cook.

A shut mouth catches no flies. I vehemently disagree. My trap was closed, both times.

A person is not a fly. Thank God. It would really suck for my kids if their mother was labeled a murderer.

Every fly has its shadow. Hmm… every fly has its shadow. Yes. Yes. That works.

Whew! I can’t tell you how relieved I am! If you have another take, please don’t tell me. I don’t want to leave this happy place. After all, it took me all morning to get here.