Thursday, May 27, 2010


Mama.  Mama. (poke) Mama. (poke poke)  It's time to get up. Can we go downstairs?

Yes, I suppose we *can*, but will we?  Of course we will.  And we do.  

The dishwasher wants to be unloaded.  The French Press is begging to be useful.  Honest, it begs me.  The laundry wants to be folded.  The laundry wants to be put away (or does it? One can never be quite sure about that.)  The cat wants to be let in.  The other cat wants to be let out, but of course not at the same time.  The short people come trip-trapping down the stairs, smelling of sweat and sleep and a desperate need for a serious toothbrushing, but that will come.  The short people want to be fed.  And attended to, and dressed and played with.  The chickens want to be fed, and let out of the pen to roam the yard.  The lawn wants to be mowed, the garden wants to be weeded.

And so I oblige them.


  1. Pamela! Does you husband make fixtures? My client in in NY, in Tribeca.

  2. Sounds like my morning - minus the cat and chickens...

  3. Keep an eye on that laundry, its tricky...make SURE it wants to be folded before you oblige. Whiny laundry...

  4. Hey, maybe I should get some chickens...I have a yard now, with a fence and a shed...they could keep the goats company, whilst they "mow" the lawn :)

  5. I am thankful to have lazy laundry. I don't suppose it is by their choice, but they have learned that.. when time comes, they will be folded and put away. The more they whine.. the longer it takes. :)

  6. 'course you do. You are the mama.



talk to me, people. because you know i get all giddy when you do.