I am torn today, between wanting to do a thousand things, and wanting to do nothing. I suppose, in the end, I will have to settle for doing just one thing, as is always the case. I read a book once where the writer confessed that as a child, she was very angry at being locked in her body and not being able to fly. I seem to have a similar condition in which I am angry that I cannot be in several places at once, doing multiple things. Right now I would be writing a book and shooting photos and taking a yoga class and scribbling poetry and playing guitar on my deck and riding my bike by the water.

But my 2 hours are almost up for the afternoon, and soon, my 2 year old will wake up and we'll go and play on the swings and maybe pull some weeds from the garden and then Michelle will come for supper and then she'll put the girls to bed while I take my bike (I don't care about the rain) over the the board walk and take some pictures of the weeping willows I've been longing to photograph for days. Evening is the perfect time, when the sun shines low and the green colors seem to vibrate.

This overwhelm of wanting to do everything all at once has always been a thorn in my side, and I have to believe that destiny saw my problem and sent me children. Children require undivided presence, which frees me from my obsession. Left to my own devices, I'd probably never comb my hair and go to the grocery store in my pyjammas, maybe I'd end up like the old homeless woman who lives here in the summers who walks along the road sides, cursing at the cars and pedestrians (What are you looking at you Mother F#*%er!) between rousing choruses of "Life is a Highway" or "Blowin' in the Wind".

As it is, my 6 year old lost her 2nd tooth the other night, and I completely forgot to leave her toothfairy money. She woke the next morning and came into my room, distraught, holding her sad looking tooth: "Why didn't the toothfairy come?" She said.

I moaned. I sympathized. I suggested that maybe the toothfairy didn't see it because it was so small, that we should try again.

I forgot again. And then again. Still my daughter, full of faith, kept believing. Although by now, her version of the toothfairy has changed from a shiny, smiling magical lady, to a fat old many who smokes too many cigarettes and misses work shifts due to hangovers.

I finally remembered on the 4th night, and left a note, apologizing:

"I'm very sorry I kept you waiting." said the toothfairy (whose handwriting looked remarkably like mommy's and whose pen had apparantly stopped working half-way through and had to be replaced with another pen of a darker color)

"So many kids lost their teeth this week, I just couldn't keep up. Some kids had to wait a whole week. Here is something a little extra." I left her double the regular price for a tooth. This morning, she crawled into my bed, smiling her little gappy smile.