I used to wonder why the artistically talented mothers I have known didn't do much art. Now I know. I tried to download some photos this evening and not a one is on my computer, or flickr, or any where. Right when I was about to plug in the camera, LuLu started screaming. I ignored her and her frantic father a whole five minutes as I tried to find the battery charger because I realized too late the thing was about to die. The baby cried as we started tearing the room apart looking for the stupid thing. It wasn't in any of the half dozen places it was known to lurk. Finally, I could stand it no longer and abandoned the search, the camera, the photos and the computer. A half hour later, the baby sated, I simply didn't care anymore and lost myself to the Woody Allen flick Dutch put on the TV. The family is asleep, so I can't turn on the loud computer and finish. Tomorrow isn't even an option because, as soon as I get up, I have to call the Volvo mechanic, and finish the laundry, and... and... and... I still haven't written thank you notes. I keep waiting for the epiphany to come, the flash of inspiration that will inspire me out of this funk, the pithy line where I realize this is deep and all for a good reason. Its not coming and now that I am deep into a pity party, I realize I was much more contented playing video games on my phone. Maybe I'll just go back to that.