Trekhprudny Lane

There are miraculous moments. And we are, of course, living in a sundrenched paradise. Still, if this mothering gig was a job, I'd have resigned: equal parts scullery maid, nurse, cook, teacher, entertainer, referee, valet/general attendant, slave. But without any of those titles. I also think John Lanchester is right in Family Romance: calling something a duty makes it easier than calling it "care-giving," because you're freer to honestly dislike it.

Maybe because the girls have been my primary company for a few months now, and I see them as friends of mine as well as tiny tots, I find myself exasperated by what seems to be, before I catch myself, their immaturity. Why are they screeching and quarreling over that little plastic horse? What a waste of our time, I'll think to myself. Then, too I'll remember that in their fledgling relationship as sisters, territories are still being fought over, rules drafted, roles forged.