As I was being projectile puked on at the pediatrician's office by eleven-month-old Elizabeth Tuesday night, I wondered what part of the cruel universe picks up on the fact that my husband is out of town? And what other part of the universe then decides it's okay for at least one if not all of my children (or self on occasion) to be sick every time he is gone? I think it must be neighbor to the section of the universe that always leaves an unmatched sock behind in the laundry pile. Or perhaps it's next to the cosmos that makes a depressing song come on the radio whenever your already in a bad mood. Which by the way, is just a light-year away from the galaxy that hides car keys, jump drives and money. And somewhere nearby is a particularly annoying portion of space that informs all three of my girls that I am writing, and despite the fact that Daddy is in the room...magnetically pulls them all to me; babies claw at my back and toddler climbs up next to me and yells a series of undecipherable sentences into my inner ear.
I am holding out for the part of the universe that gives me infinite time to sleep, write, and whatever other bloody thing I want to do. To my calculations this great phenomenon will occur either when all the planets align or at least approximately 18+ years from now.
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