stay at home mom. that's a good one.

Zack shares the kitchen with me, slinging batter in the waffle maker while I scramble to make lunches.

Lexi is still recovering from her mother's bad judgment; something about nodding my head to two consequent sleepovers that resulted in many sleepy tears by Sunday.

And I race off to Jazzercise, and to the local produce store, and write long lists and wonder why I thought I might be bored when school started.

The cupboard looked bare; my plate is still full.

Many of my friends have returned to jobs now, and I can't really pinpoint where my time goes. The cruise director of this ship.

*****

About a month ago, I stopped by the first Borders I worked at, when Zack was a baby, and spotted two familiar faces. We chitchatted and caught up and I let the words slip: I am writing a novel.

I can say this to just about anyone and they may ask questions or marvel or roll their eyes when the name for a character comes to me and I'm a little too excited about it.

But these are booksellers. They consume books. They read everything. They have big brains and bigger interest in fledgling authors.

Telling them was making a commitment. Wearing the bauble. Proclamation.

I better find the hours that get away from me.