It is hard to argue with a kid who searches through the fridge in post-nap hunger and then says "We could have some canteloupe and then some toe food (Tofu-Kan) for a pretty good snack don't you think?" Especially since the kid's pregnant mama is sneaking a Coke and Nutella-frosted graham crackers for breakfast. (No one else is awake yet! They won't know!)

I have discovered the true purpose of blogging: Procrastination. I am a former heavyweight procrastinator, and only recently retired from the game. In high school, I started each and every history paper the night before it was due (apologies to Jim Bogue, but you probably already knew this). I did not gain wisdom with age, and my last week of college was spent frantically researching and spilling out three ten-page papers. I have one vivid memory from this time: a photocopy for my ancient comic theater paper (please, don't ask) of Harpo Marx performing the fishface move he called "Throwing a Gookie." (My apologies to my husband's Japanese ancestors.) I relented when it came time to write my M.Ed. paper last fall, and started to write in earnest TWO WEEKS before it was due. TWO WEEKS! The problem with this sensible approach was that I changed my topic three times and wrote approximately 20 extra pages of useless material. That's the thing about procrastination; when you wait until the last minute to write, everything comes out pure (or pure drivel, as the aforementioned Mr. Bogue could tell you).

The thing is, when you are a stay-at-home mom, there are no true deadlines to put off, because nothing ever gets done. You can't write "raise child" on a list and then start toying with it, thinking to yourself, "Well, I could put that off until after I sort my junk e-mail into three distinct categories." Plus, children aren't good candidates for procrastinatory activities, because they get exponentially more demanding, in a brainsplitting way, as time goes on. If you do not believe me, try preparing pasta (HOW SLOWLY CAN WATER BOIL?!?) for a shrieking toddler. Next time, you'll have string cheese and cold cuts on tap in the fridge, believe you me! And if you think an item like "laundry" or "neaten living room" is a finite task, let me drop off the Toddlerita and her companion, Astronaut the feline whirling dervish, for a few days.

But I miss the game. I miss the thrill of waiting until absolutely the last moment, then feeling that rush of energy as I rush about, slapping together a solution. So I create tension. I compose long lists of basic household tasks just for the purpose of crossing them off, and inevitably, I can't get them done. To be honest, I often *think* I will be able to finish them in a single day, and then the reality of life with the Toddlerita hits. For example, yesterday the list was "grocery shopping, drop off books at library, drop off Tupperware at Lucy's." I wrote this list at 8 am. Breakfast time passed, morphing quickly into snacktime after I got cocky and thought I'd scan the newspaper. Then there's diaper change, naked time (not for me, thank you!), pondering and ultimately refusing bath time, dancing to "Woody's Roundup" seven times, and we're finally out the door at 11:30. As any good primary caregiver knows, this leaves at MOST an hour and a half to accomplish all tasks, return home, and eat lunch before Inevitable Meltdown occurs. (This may appear to be a procrastination-worthy deadline, but the punishment of public toddler freakout is far greater than any late-paper penalty could ever be.)

We made it through Wegman's. (Stop by bakery, get free kid cookie, teach manners by having the toddler thank bakery staff, explain that upstate grocery chains don't carry meringue glacees like Eloise eats at the Plaza, look at lobsters and dead fish, teach number skills using produce scale, deflect and distract from requests for blue yogurt, gummi worm cupcakes, SpongeBob crackers, give in to request for "natural" brand of peanut butter cereal in which sugar is listed as third ingredient rather than store brand, where it is the second.) An hour and twenty-five minutes. Lucy is moving and didn't want her Tupperware right now anyway. I returned the books on my walk this morning.

But today I have a GENUINE goal: clean house before friend Melissa arrives! Of course, Melissa has a 70-pound salivating dog, and used to live with me, so her expectations are not high. My New England ancestry, however, dictates that a certain effort be made. An effort which can be put off. Which leads me to the Blog.

Hello hello! We have joined the 21st century and started blogging. This is the initial run!

My kid is lately fascinated with all the parts of the body, like bones, lungs, red blood cells, the digestive system, etc. She also likes to pretend to be different things, such as dogs or horses, and draws whoever is around into the role-playing. These two pastimes often combine with disturbing results, such that she will come up to me and say, "Mama Skull, what are you doing?" (I'm expected to call her "Baby Skull" when I reply.)

She continues to be excited about the arrival of her new sister, I think particularly because she knows it will be happening near her birthday. She thinks the baby is going to sing "Happy Birthday" to her "when it comes out of the belly." She no longer wants to name the baby after herself, and instead has settled on "Jesse" (the yodeling cowgirl from "Toy Story 2").

The newest arrival in the household is Ithaca Fishica, a beta which we are fish-sitting for a friend over the summer, and trying not to kill (the fish, not the friend). Kitty Astronaut, at six months old, is now the size of Sylvie and seems bent on keeping George's memory alive in the Monster Purring, Upholstery-Destroying and general Pain-In-the-Butt departments.