notes from the room

I'm into Oprah right now. I've been watching her network and reading old O magazines my mom has laying around. I'm a mess, maybe.

I have spent two weeks at home taking care of Ramona. I have rules. I have to eat breakfast and lunch, not too much coffee. And I have to at least clean up lunch during naptime. Then I read until I fall asleep. This is what I can accomplish for myself. I can eat two meals and wash a few dishes. A quick wipe with a washcloth. And then I am free to read and sleep.

But the waking hours of Ramona. Holding her hand. Coaxing, coaxing her to play my games. Change a diaper. Read a book. This is easy. I can do the things that would never land on a list. I can smile. I can pet her sweetheart head. I can do these things.

Oprah says, "Nova, you need a place to work. A desk. A place to focus your dreams!" So this morning Brian drug up an old crappy desk from the garage. I wiped it clean. I opened my computer, laid out an old list. And I began to peek inside. Inside the inbox. The lists. The plans. my heart.

I do this while watching out a window. Watching them play with the hose. I want to run out there and push all this off. Fall into the pace of the day. Fill a sippy cup, fix a shoe strap, change wet diaper, put the babydoll nigh-night. I will myself to not give into the pull of the day. I will myself to face the blog, face the research paper. Face the inbox.