It is 7:53 pm. I just walked outside into 103 degrees. But more than that, it is deafening out there. You, over there, with your sea breezes and lapping waves–and all you can hear is that lulling. And you, there by the creek, the sound of light rain on all those leafy trees. You outside looking up at the evening sky and hearing…not much. Well, you should come here to experience this Phoenix-in-July thing–Phoenix when everyone leaves but the cicadas.
If there are six billion people on the planet and half are women, then it is safe to say that there are 1 billion women on this earth who are currently keeping house (or hut) with their mate (or sans a mate) and maybe raising children. Some of these women have jobs, some don’t. Some have plumbing, some don’t. Some go to grocery stores for food, some slaughter goats in the dirt yard. Some have thick, taupe wall-to-wall carpet, some have compacted mud floors. But all keep house. All sweep. All cook. Many tend to kids. Every day. I jokingly refer to this as the Housewife Olympics. And I not-so-jokingly say that I am not doing very well in the Housewife Olympics.
Tomorrow is my mom’s birthday. I’m not saying which one- but it is a biggie. I thought I’d blog her a birthday card because she is the only person I can count on to actually read my blog. That is what a mom does…a mom reads her 38-year-old daughter’s blog. At least, usually. And then sometimes she writes me little emails telling me how wonderful and talented I am. And whether that is true or not, it always feels good to read. Without my mom, the phone might not ring for days sometimes. I mean, I have a lot of friends…I do. But my mom is the only one who calls for no reason…as we are rushing out to school…as we are doing bathtime…all the time. And no matter how scrunched-up or snarky or sideways I get with her…she still loves me.