Here's what I've been doing tonight instead of writing. We've written a massive amount about our artistic practices and tonight everything is making me throw my hands up in the air in disgust/surrender/exhaustion.
- made two school lunches
- made two dinners
- watched my kids exchange CAKE for AN APPLE. WTF? How did I raise 3 year olds who prefer an apple to cake?
- played "three bears in a cave"
- read part of Maggie Stiefvater's new book
- cleaned the apartment
- cleared out the clean laundry by putting it back in the dryer
- piled all the dirty dishes in the sink
- failed to make dinner for myself
- wrote a new project description
- looked at photos of me pregnant
- noticed that I have more back fat now than while pregnant
- drew half a bath until the girls decided that they wanted to go straight to bed
- read two books
- kissed two little girls several times
- noted that I still have half a (cold) bath
- plugged in the ancient laptop in an effort to find old show photos
- found old show photos but got distracted by birthday party photos
- thought intermittently about Nepal and Baltimore
It's 10pm. I get up at 6 and I'm no where near to being able to sleep. I'm looking at the very first picture of my girls as they were born, before they were whisked off to the NICU, before I knew H would sometimes stop breathing, before I didn't get to hold both my babies for over 3 weeks. So who the hell cares if I can't write tonight? Because life, death, babies. I'll get this done.