A One Hundred Percent Chance

Tim: Mom, did you know dying is one of those things where you have a one hundred percent chance?

I'm really, really tired right now, tired beyond the point of being able to think, hours past the time when I should have curled up in bed. I would love to be in bed, but I'm too tired to go. I need to go downstairs and get my purse, extract the four library cards I carry in a little zippered pocket inside the purse, and click on over to the Bellingham Public Library website, where I can find out the names of our overdue books. There are probably lots of them, because we went to the library during spring break and each of the kids got about forty. That was a long time ago. The library used to send me email alerts, but when I was in there with all the kids, Nigel stamping the due date all over every available inch of skin, Tim shoving DVDs and comic books in my face every 30 seconds and begging, "PLEASE, Mom, PLEEEEEEEEASE?" Alex grabbing the video out of his stack and running back to exchange it every time the librarian got ready to scan the barcode and Zach reverting into that Zen state where he tugs rhythmically on my sleeve while chanting, "Mom...Mom...Mom...Mom...Mom...Mom...Mom"--while all that was happening, the librarian and I decided it was a good time to change my email address on all the accounts. Not surprisingly, we must have gotten it wrong, because I've not received a warning and now I have 160 overdue books and 4 very overdue videos. So I have to go downstairs and get the purse so I can make a list and start the library book scavenger hunt, but I'm too tired. I'm procrastinating by writing this incoherent thing on my blog. We're so tired and overprogrammed right now. We're sucking innocent people like Nigel and Kim into the vortex of our scheduling insanity. We're stacking up complex scheduling schemes combined with tricky childcare plans that lead to wackiness like my friend (filling in for her 16 year old daughter) trying to take Nigel to her elderly relative's birthday party at a restaurant in Ballard (Her: "How often should I take him to the potty?" Me: "Well, definitely lots more if you let him have any juice or pop at the party." Her: "Oh, rats. I forgot about that part.") I got up at 5:30 this morning to prepare lunches for about everyone who lives here, sack breakfasts for half and sack dinners for the other half. Then I sent Zach off on his overnight field trip to the Conservation site, Tom to work--he would leave promptly at five pm to join Zach for the overnight--then he's planning to arise early, put on a suit and tie inside a two man tent, eat the sack breakfast, and zip back to Bellingham for a hearing tomorrow morning. I dropped Nigel and Porter off with my friend Courtney, ran back home for the Math Club plan I forgot, zipped back to the school, dropped in on Tim's teacher to beg her to keep Tim with her for the hour between the end of his school and the beginning of math club, ran to Alex's room, and got on the bus to go to the District's 1880 pioneer farm site for an all-day field trip. I was the butter churning mom. It doesn't seem like tramping around on a sunny but cold frontier farm could wear you out, but I took a nap on the bus ride home while Alex sang "Green Grow the Rushes-O" at the top of his lungs. When I got to the school, I discovered that Tim had accidentally boarded the bus. His teacher made a heroic effort to catch the bus (she's a serious marathoner--witnesses say she did her best) but he ended up having a little ride around the neighborhood (Now I know Scott's whole route! he said cheerfully). I got back to school in time to retrieve him from the bus and start Math Club. Then we ran to Courtneys for the baby and the dog, dropped by home for the baseball gear and the sack dinner, and headed to baseball practice. We got home from THAT in time to have a late snack of hashbrowns and to take my sweet neighbor's little girls when she went into labor. Now everyone is asleep. Tomorrow morning I start teaching at 6:45 am. I need to tidy up the house. I need to put breakfast out on the table. Lunches are half made, backpacks haven't been emptied. Alex has a baseball game, Zach has scouts. I need to prepare for 13 lessons tomorrow, and I had BETTER get those stupid library cards. But I'm too tired, so I'm just sitting here typing, waiting for Godot, asking myself all the existential questions and finding no answers.

I do not work as hard as those frontier women did. I do not grapple with the basic issues of survival every day. My hectic life is pretty shallow, meaningless even in its myriad, tortuous details.

I need Tom to walk in, banish the housekeeping till tomorrow, forcibly shut down the computer, and send me to bed.