I'm not a great cook. I have a dinnertime repertoire of about four or five dishes, and these I can usually manage not to burn or otherwise destroy. I have a really hard time THINKING of things to cook let alone ACTUALLY COOKING them, so I am proud to tell you that the slow cooker pot roast I tried tonight was a resounding success. The Internet told me I couldn't go wrong with a crockpot, but I hadn't really tested its abilities until tonight when I presented my husband with a steaming platter of meat and potatoes. A few bites later Phillip turned to me and said, "You can make this tomorrow night too." That giant glow you saw out your window at 6:30 p.m. Pacific Time was my thrilled and beaming face.

We’re into Dan’s second week of paternity leave and I’ve decided that I love being half of a stay-at-home mom. Our relationship and parenting style has come to resemble something like doubles beach ball volleyball minus the teeny bikinis.

I do the breastfeeding and Dan takes over for the belch and diaper change. I sleep in late while he packs the kids’ lunches, gets them dressed, feeds them breakfast, and takes them to school. He takes an afternoon nap while I play a game with Magoo, and then he wakes up in time to get Laylee from the bus stop. He loads the dishwasher and I unload. He sets the table for the food-eaters among us while I feed the baby AGAIN. You get the idea.

At five-thirty I had dinner in the oven, a set table, two happy children, and a head start on the dishes. Molly, who can't bear to be out of my sight, bum-scooted herself into the kitchen and attached herself to my ankles. I looked down to cheerfully acknowledge my sweet little daughter, to take pride in my housewifely and stay-at-home-mom-ly accomplishments that evening, and saw that she was picking something up off the floor. From the section of the kitchen floor that hides under the edges of the cupboards, Molly produced what looked like a blueberry that had, I assumed, fallen off the lunch dishes I'd washed earlier. (It was a banner day for prompt clean up in the Cheung household.) But when I bent down to fish it out of her mouth (she's quick) I saw it was a purple jellybean. Covered in dust.

It was a Hold Me Or Else kind of day with my sweet Molly. I was not allowed to put her down, walk away or look in another direction, HOW DARE I EVEN THINK ABOUT IT. She wasn't interested in eating, and if the drenched shirtfront is any indication, she's doing some serious teething. Even though I don't remember how that felt, I'm sure it's not pleasant, and I did my very best to drum up a little sympathy. But the list of things that were not accomplished today is long, oh so very long, and the items at the top include SHOWER, EAT and CLEAN THAT FRIGHTENING PIT YOU CALL A KITCHEN.

I finally forced some sweet potatoes down her throat and, for the very first time today, she is content to be somewhere other than my arms, namely, entranced in front of the television with her brother. At this point I feel like I should pay my television an hourly rate and pretend not to notice when it scarfs down all the snacks in the cupboards.

Phillip should be home in about fifteen minutes and you know what's going to happen then? We'll eat dinner. THRILLING. And then we'll wash up and put the kids down and then you know what's going to happen? I'm going to Target, where the world is clean and bright and howl-free, and where I don't have to carry anything except my completely unnecessary purchases.

The neighborhood playground is about a ten minute walk from my house. In honor of the glorious spring weather, the kids and I trooped over to fulfill the daily wear-them-out requirement. Across the street are about a dozen townhouses, houses we briefly considered when we were looking to buy, and every time we go to the playground I think, "Gee, if we lived HERE I'd only have to walk across the STREET."

I know, right? Could I BE more lazy?

We ended up at the playground this morning only after a lengthy argument with myself, wherein I debated the pros and cons of joining some playgroup moms for a picnic at the beach. Pros: friends! sunny weather! an endless sandbox of fun only twenty minutes away! Cons: Packing clothes. Packing lunch. Packing kids and assorted accessories into the car. Twenty whole minutes away. Laziness totally won out, as it does nearly every time.