Whiffleballs.

Why is it that no one feels the need to distract me with email when I’m sitting here staring at the computer screen thinking, gee, nothing happened today? Mornings: email. Middle of the day: email. Overnight: email. But when I could really use the distraction, nothing. What’s with that?

And it isn’t exactly that NOTHING happened today. Things happened, just not things anyone would like to read about. Ever. Don’t believe me? Let’s see, we washed a bunch of laundry, folded and put away said laundry, washed and dried and put away dishes, put away more laundry, cleaned the shower I never clean, changed eighty baby diapers (or at least it seemed like eighty, probably more like six), cooked and ate a bunch of meals, cleaned up after meals… blah.

Audrey’s birthday party is this weekend, and I’ve done very close to nothing to prepare for it. My mother is in charge of napkins, beverages, floral décor, and fruit. Dane and Owen are in charge of bagels. I am in charge of… showing up? Probably baking muffins, too. I am also in charge of directing Dane, whom I have just sent to the store. (See, I’m delegating! I’m the party supervisor! Very important.)

I asked him to pick up streamers. (Me: “Pretty colors, springy and baby-ish!” Him: “There are pretty streamers?”) Also balls to bounce on a parachute, because we just received a parachute as a gift and now it must accompany us on all future outings, or at least those taking place within the next 30 days. According to my children.

I specified non-foam, bouncy type balls. He called from Target to report that the balls were neither foam nor bouncy, but that he would buy some and I could Decide About Them Later. I tried a variety of information-gathering maneuvers: “What are they made of? Do they bounce? Will they bounce on the parachute?” To which he responded: “I don’t know. No. I don’t know. You can look at them and DECIDE LATER.”

And now I’m filled with trepidation about the balls. Am I to decide whether they bounce? Or whether they’re balls? What kind of ball doesn’t bounce and isn’t made of foam? A baseball? He wouldn’t buy baseballs to toss on the parachute, right? Because I don’t want to be the mom who throws parties where the kids go home with baseball-induced black eyes.

I’ll just wait and see. I suppose I can always decide NO. Though I’m sure he found something perfect and wonderful and round and not made of foam or, uh, lead. Because I think lead would tear a hole in the parachute. But why would Target be peddling lead balls? And why would Dane buy one? See, so probably he found something just right. I’ll see when he gets home. And then I can go back to doing nothing to prepare for this whole party deal.

*but go ahead and leave your suggestions in the comments section, if you’re so inclined.

Why is my inbox suddenly inundated with “helpful news and links for nutrition bloggers”? Do I look like a nutrition blogger? Did anyone else even know there WAS such a thing as a nutrition blogger? I mean, I’ll admit we’re a little nutrition-happy in real life. We eat whole foods, we’re vegetarian, the kids have a veritable panoply of food allergies between them which render us unable to serve processed foods, etc, etc. But I think the only food item I EVER mention around here is… ice cream. Which I happen to be eating at this very minute.

And that is all the nutritional information I plan to provide in this here blog post.

Also: Slate? Salon? What’s with the sudden onslaught of popup ads? Are you trying to kill me by causing my eyeballs to explode? ARE YOU? Because I will be worth way less advertising dollars to you if I am dead. Just something to think about. Everyone who wants Netflix already subscribes. Yes, they do. A subscription to the Washington Post is not an impulse buy. Credit card popups make slightly more sense, but are infinitely more annoying as they insist on blinking and flashing. Just make them ALL GO AWAY before I have to click away to preserve my own sanity. Please.

Audrey turned one over the weekend. We sang happy birthday to her a dozen times, reminisced about her birth, pointed out all the One Year Old Things she’s doing now. It might not sound like much, but it was enough to occupy my little mind to the point that when Ella’s mother called in the evening, I assumed she just wanted to chat. But no.

“I’m calling to make sure you remember you’re watching Ella tomorrow morning,” she said.

“Oh,” I said, “Well, technically I wasn’t remembering that right NOW, but I would have figured it out at some point.”

“Like when we dropped her off?”

“Yes, like then,” I admitted.

You see what toddling steps and ponytails do to me? Not only do I forget what’s on my calendar, I forget to lie about my own forgetfulness. Sheesh.

I am wiped out. Exhausted. No particular reason, though the three small children may have something to do with it.

I could have spent the morning traipsing through the toy-and-CD-strewn living room or trying to locate the playroom behind the mound of laundry, if I had the energy for traipsing or locating. Instead I mostly sat in the middle of the chaos and read out loud. But now it is quiet time, one-third of the children are sleeping, and I just ate an enormous bowl of Haagen Dazs. Things are clearly looking up.

I wrote a couple of project queries this week, and I will have you know that I may in fact suck more at querying than at writing submission cover letters. Which is saying something, given that my cover letters go something like this: “This is quite terrible and probably isn’t even what you’re looking for, but if you have some time to kill, you’re welcome to skim over it and let me know if there’s any tiny sentence in it that might work for you…” Then later I think, You know, that may not have been the best way to sell the piece. But by then, of course, it’s too late.

So, queries sent. Week over. House a wreck (um, as usual). The weekend promises to be insanely busy. Does it seem like a bad idea to bundle the kids up for a trip to the bookstore after Dane gets home from work tonight (which is also past bedtime for two of them)? Hmm, probably. Could I just take a nap instead?