Oh Bother

I walk in the front door, eager to see my children but don't see my mother-in-law's car out front. She's been watching them this weekend because I've been in Portland pitching my book to a handful of agents (who want the proposal!).

"Hello!" I call out. My housemate, Steve, comes around the corner from the kitchen. "Where are the kids?"

"I don't know," he says. "I think I heard them talking about pizza."

I can't decide if I'm disappointed they aren't home. A nice quiet house to reflect on the success at the conference and the No Shame skit I'm thinking up in my head? Or little ones running at me and hugging me and telling me how much they missed me. Hmm.

I bring in my things from the van and sort-of put them away, think about the music I listened to on the way home and the memories it evoked, check on the wee chickens and admire the work Steve has done on the chicken coop so far.

I call Paul and wildly hint about sex tonight and wonder now, since the children are still not home, what I should do with my free block of time.

Work on proposal?
Straighten bedroom?
Get something to eat?
Start watching a dvd -- knowing they'll be home ten minutes after I start it?
Read?
Clean off the kitchen table?

This might be why I can't seem to take advantage of small blocks of time during the day. I never can decide which of the pressing items to choose from and so do nothing out of panic and indecision.

Oh Bother.