I sit, pondering, longer than usual. My brain turns over and over, like those chickens you see at Costco grilling behind the meat counter. And yet, nothing.

Earlier tonight, while steering my old car down dark streets, I happened upon two topics to discuss. I can’t remember the first one and I don’t want to describe the second one tonight. Which leaves me only with a recitation of the day’s events.

Have I mentioned recently how much I loathe dark mornings? I hate taking a shower. I hate brushing my teeth. I hate drying my hair. And I especially hate talking to anyone. And so, as a joke, God gave me a very talkative daughter who wakes up suddenly and with great cheer. She sits on the toilet while I shower and asks me to get her a cookie. She opens the shower door to let in a cold gust before I’m dry. She climbs on the counter to brush her teeth while I blink at my reflection.

I do not enjoy this start to my day. This morning, however, I readied myself alone because I had to be presentable by 7:15 a.m. Which I understand is not that early in the scheme of things, but still.

We’re concentrating on history lessons this week, so the boys and I sat at the kitchen table while I read the history textbook out loud. Intermittent whines, screeches, hollers and plaintive cries for help upstairs interrupted our study. Have I complained lately how stressful it is to coordinate schooling-at-home with the ravings of a three-year old and the needs of a baby or two? At one point, I rendered a dramatic reading of the Declaration of Independence, which was nothing more than a veiled attempt to outshout “Blue’s Clues.”

I learned something, too. And not just about the Battles of Bunker Hill and Breed’s Hill. No. I learned something far more important.

Laundry does not wash itself, even if you are preoccupied with the laundry generators. That hardly seems right to me.

So. We finished history. Fed the little kids. Rocked the baby to sleep. Put the little kids down for naps. Read the newspaper. Welcomed home the second-grader. Agreed to let his friend come over for the afternoon. Created a last minute dinner (frozen ravioli, frozen homemade spaghetti sauce and frozen corn . . . see? I have a frozen theme). My husband, God bless him, called to inquire about my day and I said, “I am so tired of this. And the rain.”

And he said, “At least you have tomorrow off.” And I said, “Oh, yes, at home with my four kids, that is a Day Off!” with perhaps less enthusiasm than is right. And so, a few minutes later, he called again and asked if I’d like to run his errands in exchange for leaving the house for the evening.

Of course I would! And that’s how I ended up browsing for cards at Barnes & Noble, viewing “Capote,” in the movie theater, shopping at Target, and buying three dozen Krispie Kreme donuts. (Two dozen for his workshop tomorrow. One dozen to appease the children in the morning. Okay. Who am I kidding? Half a dozen for the children, half a dozen for me because I need those calories to get through the day, tight jeans notwithstanding!)

“Capote” was a remarkably well-done film. I immediately purchased In Cold Blood, Truman Capote’s last book. Now I have two thousand and ONE books to read before I die.

Here I am now, home again, home again, jiggety-jog. Tomorrow, a wind storm is predicted to bring us gusts of 60 miles per hour. I am looking forward to that, oddly enough. The wind is already flinging raindrops at the window with an admirable show of force.

The end.