Words around the house

Erik told Zoe that all he had to do was finish painting her window and her room would be done. "But then I won't be able to see out." Zoe is a bit of a literalist. She also likes to fill out forms. On Saturday, she spent two hours on the computer filling out Submishmash and the other submission manager forms. She came home from mushroom hunting Monday morning asking if we could fill out some more forms. You know, send some stuff to those places. Because it's fun. (I warned her about the rejection element and the lack of fun there. She seemed unconcerned.)

Upon installing Zoe's new closet organizer, Erik tells me he's installed "hundreds of these." He has many talents. A new one is revealed to me on an almost daily basis. "Closet organizer installer" is one of the most useful. I plan to turn my whole house into a closet.

Max says a lot of things. "Zoe. I'm working with daddy. It's too dangerous for you." And, "Mama, I paint like daddy." (Not really Max Daddy gets a little paint on the walls.) And, "I need a helmet." Pretty much all the time, that's true. Some days, the narration of his day takes as long as the drive from preschool home. "And then I played the computer but then I couldn't play the computer because it fell on the floor. Crash. And then I cried because the computer was on the floor so I went outside and I drove the car. I opened the car door and closed the car door and then it rained. Then we couldn't ride cars so I went back in to play computer which was on the table. No crash. Just type." Max has a stronger sense of narrative than most.  He is also a bit of a yeller. If Max were a cartoon, his dialogue bubbles would be in all caps. At sushi the other night, Max says, "I USE MY CHOPSTICKS MAMA!" Zoe says back to him, "Max, you don't have to yell. Mommy's right there." I nod my head. It's true. I'm like six inches away.

Things I say to myself, quietly, when I'm home alone: Fall semester is so much less stressful than spring semester I almost feel like I'm cheating. I've been writing during the week. Even on teaching days. I'm sure this will stop. It probably should. I'm nervous I'm forgetting something. I'm sure it will all become too busy soon--guest writers descend in early October and come and come throughout the month--and then I'll actually be forgetting things and I'll feel a lot more like myself. I probably spend to much time home alone. It's what I always desire most but after hour 4.5, I start to miss the stories. I drop the computer on the floor and paint the windows just to get some narrative happening around here.