1/25/1999
Monday

Don't Mess with Mama

9:45 a.m. Driving Tab to work right now. Actually he is driving and I am entering this into my Zaurus. (I'm not that crazy!) The twins are non-stop chatterboxes in the middle seat of the minivan.

"Mama, look at that cement truck!" "Mama, I saw geese!" "Mama, I can't sit all the time!" This last from Matthew, who lately is becoming impatient with all the driving we have to do.

"I wonder how many times he says `Mama' in the course of the day," Tab remarks.

"Listen to this," I say to Tab. "Matthew, who's your favorite person?"

"Yooouuuuuu..." Matthew answers, drawing out the word. Tab and I both laugh: Matthew sounds almost grudging, as though he loves me against his will.

Last night Tab opened up the boxes of Brio railroad stuff the twins got for Christmas, and the boys have been setting up the tracks and playing with the trains all day. After dinner Tab was playing with the them. "Oh, no!" I heard him exclaim as Amber, our foundling cat, strolled over to investigate. "A giant cat is sitting on the track! Godzilla cat!"

"No, Daddy, it's just Amber," said Stephen.

7:25 p.m. Grrrr. I'm expecting my period any day now. I'd know, even without looking at the calendar, because of my mood. I feel stetched as taut as a piano wire, vibrating with jangling intensity at the slightest touch. I've been mainlining chocolate all day: self-medicating with Lindt. We stopped for milk on the way home, and I asked Tab to buy me a pint of Seventh Heaven chocolate Heath Bar ice cream. Screw the diet. I want to have a pin made up to wear on a days like this that reads, "Don't mess with Mama."

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