sleeping beauties

adieu, diaper champ. adieu.

This afternoon presents me with a rare treat… sleeping daughters. They have actively denied me and their tired selves the pleasure of a nap for weeks, months… I cannot remember. Alls I know is I have not written here in a while, not regularly, and it is because the only time I have, ever, at any point during the day or night to do this is when they nap. So here I am, whoever I am, writing. We went to Callum, J. and Janet’s place this morning to play and then a quick and annoying trip to Target to search for shoes followed. They passed out in the car on the way back and remain sleeping now, almost a forty-five minutes after we returned home.

There is some kind of shift happening in my life at the moment. There is probably always some kind of shift occurring, but this one seems large scale to me, different than the one million small shifts that happen every day. Mimi and Beenie are getting older and less baby-like. Three this coming September 25th. Hard to imagine how much they have changed in only three years. That is always what parents say about their children. Their starting preschool in September, also, marks a large change, a moving away from total dependence on me. The slow beginning of separation, three mornings per week. As much as I need this to happen and they need it to happen, it is still somehow sad. I’m so grateful I’ve had the past three years to be immersed in such profound love, need and insanity. Such genius and humanity. Uh oh, I’m gonna cry. It is the nature of mothers to cry, you know.

What is not going to make me weep will be the moment the well-used and much hated Diaper Champ leaves the house. It stinks to high heaven after almost three years of piss and shite. Now that the ladies use the potty all of the time except for nighty-night time, there is really no longer a need for this capsule of stench. I will expedite this most glorious of tasks and we will all be better for it.

Since I have absolutely no time alone, ever (except for right this second), there has been no art production. And it is this lack of quiet contemplation and pure visceral channeling of energies into paint or pencils or music or video that is driving me the most mad at the moment. I’m assuming once I have the chance to devote an hour or two per week, when the ladies are in preschool, to this pursuit of creative expression, I will feel less desperate. Until then, it will be mopping up urine and trying to keep my head from exploding off my neck. Oh yeah, and finding a flexible job that fits comfortably in with the machinery of our family.


  1. too bad it’s toxic, otherwise you could burn it, like a funeral pyre.

    good riddance to bad rubbish, both physical and psychic.

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