You would think some big holiday was coming with the way people are carrying on. I’ve barely had a moment to sit down for weeks, and there is no rest for the wicked. On Wednesday, I’m going to have a colossal fight with someone important to me and I do not precisely relish the prospect but some things have to be done. I feel oddly liberated by the concept.

I’ve had some guests this week, my dear friend from high school and her (and sort of my) son. The universe is really having a laugh at my expense, throwing a three year old in my path just when I need to cultivate the most patience (and actually have the least). This particular three year old is particularly interested in fans and lights. When I get home in the evenings, all of the lights and fans in the house are on, and everything else is disassembled into microscopic pieces. Last time he left, I was finding parts of the dishwasher under the sofa. Anyway, we took him to see Santa yesterday and he asked for a fan for Christmas.

“A what?” said Santa.

“Fans!” blurted Christopher.

“Like a ceiling fan,” I tried to explain.

“Oh my,” said Santa.

Diapers are something else I am not going to get used to. I keep getting reminded that they’re theoretically not diapers, they’re something called pull-up pants. But if there is poop languishing in there, it’s a diaper. I don’t make the rules.