Does Anybody Really Know What Day It Is?

The poet is *not* at work.

(Don't think about that too hard or you might find yourself feeling extremely philosophical.  I'm just sayin'.)

Reader, it has been a jumble this week.  Every day has felt like Tuesday (cue Morrissey for all the 80's kids:  "Every day is like Sunday....").  You might have noticed I was a little wordy on Wednesday, but it didn't dawn on me until last night when I was lying awake thinking about household tales, revisions, and aubades.

The germ of the week has been cycling through around here.  Yesterday afternoon, I finally gave in and took Sister to the doctor after a gentle push from an older, wiser woman in my life (thank you, you know who you are).  After having sent Sis to nursery in the morning, I learned that she has a sinus infection.  I feel like the Mother-of-the-Year, and I am here to tell you that, yes, it does take a village to raise a child.

Friday has been my drafting day of late, but today once I figured out it was Friday and also discovered we seem to be completely out of food, it quickly became menu-plan and grocery-order day.  With Sister at home recuperating, I wouldn't have a long stretch for drafting anyway.  I still struggle when the realities of family life run into what I think of as MY TIME, but I am getting better at being flexible and rearranging things so that I can get my writing done another day.  Right now, Sunday looks like my best shot.

Also changed are my reading plans.  Yesterday morning Traci Brimhall's Rookery arrived in the mail.  Because I know I need to sit down with Jennifer Richter's Threshold (mentioned Wednesday) when I have a calm and quiet mind I'm still a little afraid to read Threshold, I went right to Rookery while Sister slept yesterday afternoon.  Having read the first section, I can say I'm loving it so far: vivid images, surprising turns, and interesting entanglements of our humanness and creatureliness (is that a word?).  Lately, I've taken to doing the first read of a book with pencil in hand to capture my immediate, visceral, and unconsidered responses to a poem.  I think this helps me to "learn" a book better.

Lastly, I want to share a few thoughts I've been having about this blog.  When I started writing here, my kids were all quite small and they lived their lives freely and unselfconsciously as all young children do.  Now they are older and, especially for the Bean and AJ, life has become larger than our little family.  They have lives and public personae of their own.  They are growing out of the free and unconsidered existence of early childhood,  as we all must.  As this unfolds, I feel less and less comfortable about sharing what have become their stories on this blog.  Even the harmless "cute kid stories," and the funny things they say, take on another light when I think of how they would feel if they knew I had written about it in a public forum.

I think I've mentioned this before, and I don't know exactly what this means for this blog going forward.  Maybe for now it just means there will be more Writer Raising Kids than Mom Trying to Write, and more general musings on motherhood than particular anecdotes.  I just wanted to let you know things might be shifting a bit, and to thank you for reading thus far.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I've been invited to a tea party in the front room.  Happy weekend, everyone!