getting busy

Strep is coursing through my family like a raging river. Knock wood, I am the only one who remains strep-free. Hamish started the trickle, the dam broke with Bryan, and Stella is hanging onto a metaphorical tree branch as the bacteria sweeps her into feverish discomfort between doses of bubblegum-pink amoxicillin. It's been a hell of a week planning Hamish's birthday celebration without Bryan to pick up the slack, and he is usually the slack-picker-upper extraordinaire.


But as the week wore on I fell into a groove, darting between Trader Joe's and Partyland, and a funny thing happened. I got busy. Busier than usual. Not even time for yoga. But my mind felt just as clear. I was on a mission. I felt like a real stay-at-home mom, not like the fraud I usually fear I am. And here's the robot cake to prove it:

And the satisfied five-year old:

That's me below on my anthology shoot. I got to peruse a galley, which looks mui good, and I got to meet some of the talented women who contributed to the book. It's always a rush to see my words in print. My essay is called "Forgive Me," and it's about how hopefully I can steer Stella away from making the same choices I did in my last life. And the more I toss and turn in bed at night in panicky anticipation of its publication, I think that the title is meant not only for Stella, but for my mom and dad, and anyone who chances to read it. It's a little raw, even for me. 

Lastly, my son, he likes to dress up and par-tay. The pic below is from when he was still four, long ago last week. So young. He felt suddenly compelled to don his suit and rock out, and who am I to stand in his way? He likes to come upstairs to my bedroom and play his guitar, pose in the mirror, and practice his star moves. I'm always up for a show. For this is what we do.