Where is the Missing Croc??

I spent a precious chunk of time this morning hunting for 19-month-old Estelle's croc. I still have not found it. I am the keeper-together-of-things in our house. No one else regularly inventories toys, toy pieces, shoes, socks, ectcetera, but me. In my overtaken Mommy brain, concerns for the mundane, such as household items inventory, occupy a significant slice of gray matter real estate.

(Insert pie chart of my brain usage here)

Sometimes I feel badly about the smallness of my thoughts and the time I spend on activities that seem so unimportant in in the face of life and death and other people's big accomplishments and money-making. But if I don't keep the order of our household, chaos waits patiently, ready to overtake our family life, so I do this unpaid-in-money job for our basic well-being and hunting for that effing Croc is part of it.

Someday I'll Long for These Days and Nights

By the time bedtime arrives for Donovan and Estelle, I often yearn to get through it as quickly as possible so I can start my evening. About two hours to myself. Tonight, while I sat on the edge of Donovan's bed and he showed me how to look through his "telescope" (a long, squared, plastic tube for a bunch of glow-in-the-dark bugs) it occurred to me that at some future time, when I'm elder and my life is quiet, I might wish to be back in this Fishtown rowhouse, when Donovan was three and half and Estelle only 17 months old.

There are many sweet moments throughout our days together, but those moments are so intertwined with aggravating demands, whining, and constant service to these two little people, that it's easy to gloss past some of the surprising things they do, the little firsts, the funny words or actions.

Tonight I had to scold Donovan pretty hard for making noise while Estelle was falling asleep -- waking her up, I'm pretty sure. In his dark room, I was pointing at him and speaking in gruff staccato sentences, telling him "I'm angry!" because he's been talking back, ignoring me, and pestering Estelle all day. He started crying and I was a little surprised because he's become seemingly immune to scolding lately.

Sighing, I just wanted to leave and be done with him for the day. All the scolding, correcting, food preparation, cleanup, pickup, and demands-for-attention, all the day long, just sucks the juice out of me. But then he asked me this: "Even if you're angry, do you even still love me?" That broke my stony, angry spell. Yes, yes Donovan! I told him I wanted to hug for a long time and he said, "Sure."

After our long hug, he asked me if Daddy and I got lonely before he and Estelle were there. I told him "sometimes," and that I sometimes got lonely before I met Daddy, when I lived alone. He then reassured me. "I will always be with you all the time so you won't be lonely." We moved onto the insect-container-telescope, but as I watched him showing me how I should look through it, "lock" the top, and put the string handle around my wrist, I was fast-forwarded to my old-age, when Donovan's life is in full swing. I see myself eagerly awaiting his visits, his calls, the time he can spend with me, wishing for more and thinking back to this time when his life was completely adjoined to mine and I was reeling from so much of his time.

Celebrity Fixation

We've been watching "Girls" and I keep thinking about Lena Dunham, not in a lesbian way, but in an admiring/impressed/admittedly envious way. In my "research" to understand how someone so young has achieved so much success, I've googled her name enough times now that my search bar populates her name after only typing "Len". I wish I capitalized on the funny, raw, and sometimes shocking events of my single 20's -- and 30's -- years.