06 October 2010

and such

In a few minutes, I will go and give a friend a ride home because his car's been in the shop for nearly two weeks. Matilda and Freya are downstairs playing dominoes and black jack with Steve. I finally finished matching socks with other socks and putting away an enormous heap of clean laundry. My bed is smooth and brown and clear of undergarments, small and large.

School is going better for Matilda; she's going in early twice a week to meet with a teacher and three other students, getting extra help with her math. She'll be fine this way; this is all she needs. Freya wrote a note this morning with her name, my name, my cell number and email. She gave the note to her friend Maggie so Maggie's mother can call me and they can play on the weekend. When she's not being evil, she's so darn easy. I say this now. The evil is fleeting and I use the term very, very broadly: she was nearly impossible to get out of bed this morning. I carried her downstairs like a dead body, slinging her into her chair at the table and ordering her, in clear, concise words, to pull herself together and eat her breakfast, then march - march - upstairs and do all the other things she needs to do so we can all file out the door by 8:25 and I can drive them all to where they need to be for the day.

I've been indulging lately in some less-than-academic reading: "chick-lit," pulpy mysteries, and such. And I have to say, while I do appreciate exquisitely crafted prose, and a really stunning character piece, this "genre" fiction really is ever so much fun. Also, it's not un-instructive. I mean, the novel I'm working on definitely isn't going to be the next Ulysses, and with that in mind, I do think I'd like it to be fun.