Alabaster Mom

13. That's the number of years I've spent trying to get my child out the door for school. She entered the local school district at the age of four. She is now in her final year, and nothing has changed. When she was little, I would sometimes tug off her pajamas and hand her that day's clothes. My futile attempt to speed things up. She generally chose to remain naked.  Now, she simply doesn't get out of bed. I send the dogs in. They hop onto her bed and step all over her, overjoyed, in that canine sort of way, that she exists and once again lived through the night. Grover, in particular, cares not where his paws land. Eventually, once she's crossed the line into "no way to get to school on time," she gets up. Barely, and with a slowness that makes her father's head explode, but she gets up. One of my favorite threats: "leave on time or . . . I'll DRIVE YOU!"  Having your mom drop you off at school might be the worst thing that can happen t

The life expectancy for an American female born in 1970 is 74.7 years. My weird health history makes me think that I could be looking at a lower figure. I definitely need to live long enough to see if my husband finally figures out how to put the frying pans away properly. (He puts the largest one on top, which results in me shrieking, "They're meant to NEST, for fuck's sake!") I also need to make sure my baby girl pursues her dreams relentlessly - she might need me on hand to swat away any doubters.  Thinking about my own mortality lately has led to a couple of minor revelations. The first involves our home. The three of us (plus two dogs, one cat, and one gecko) live in a fairly standard three-bedroom ranch-style house. We could have moved to something bigger years ago, but we opted not to do so. We moved several times in our younger years (including a cross-country move) and we were pretty much over the joys of moving by the time we bought our home. We've raise