Friday

I used to own two combs. My hair routine is not much but it does usually involve combing. Presumably I still own two combs but do I know where they are? No I do not. There is a grey cloth mouse in the drawer that used to hold the combs.

This morning I sat on the floor, my butt in the doorway leading to the courtyard. I was in the hallway between the kitchen and the laundry room; behind me the half-bath, its pocket door mostly closed. My son sat on my lap. One of my little girls crawled over, whining to be picked up. And then the dog, all seventy pounds of her, came shuffling over to stand over me in the two foot square spot of floor I occupied. This is motherhood.

This evening I leave on a girls' trip. Though really it is a women's trip. Three of us mamas, friends for almost thirty years, are boarding a plane and leaving the families for some much needed alone-together time. "What will you do?" asked my husband. "Sit by the pool. Drink cocktails. Talk. Bask in the fact that no small people are touching us." Big plans. I haven't been on a plane in two years. I haven't packed a suitcase in a long time. In the past I would have already gotten my nails done, possibly my eyebrows and almost definitely a bikini wax. This morning I showered in the small shower and shaved most of my legs. Look out Scottsdale.

I'm going to go clean the kitchen before the little girls wake up. And maybe find the baby comb to finish my elaborate hair-do.