I'm having one of Those Days. I haven't been swept away by a tsunami, my house hasn't been flooded by rising rivers, I haven't been stranded in the snow for three days or blown up by a terrorist's bomb. It's just one of Those Days.

The car died yesterday (fortunately after we got home). Andy tried some easy fixes last night, none of which worked, so he'll be home tonight to curse at the car some more. (Every mechanic knows that cars respond better to cursing.) Ethan was up until after 11 PM, then woke up before 8 this morning. He didn't nap today either. I am making bloody slow progress on this rewrite, largely because I am trying to do it with Veggie Tales in the background. I got a whole new scene done yesterday, which was somewhat gratifying even though it's short, but the prose feels clumsy to me (I believe in book reviewese that would be "workmanlike".) Today I started on another new scene, but in the past two hours I've managed only about two paragraphs or so, in blue Sharpie marker. They don't sound good either. (I do like the new dog, though.)

The kids have been whining and fighting with each other all day. It's cold and soggy and gray outside. I'm having the usual problems with adding math to our routine -- i.e, I practically have to bludgeon my eldest into doing any, even though we're using games instead of workbooks. (Sample dialogue: Me: "Hey, let's play Yatzhee today." Him: "Nooooo! I want to do what I want to do!!!!!" Me: "I want you to ask your friends at Scouts what they do all day in school. Just ask them." Argh.) Ethan shredded a piece of string cheese into the carpet, and then, immediately after I finished vacuuming that up, dumped an entire bowl of popcorn on top it.

And did I mention that we are probably going to be moving soon?

Well, yes, we are probably going to be moving soon.

It will be a good move. A move I want to make. A move to the middle of nowhere, really, where we would have the chance to buy land. A place where there are mountains and many, many less strip malls.

But would we be able to sell our house while we are living in it?

No. No, we would not. Not with all the cheese-shredding and popcorn-dumping that goes on around here. Not with all the toys strewn about every room in the house. Not with my paltry organizational skills.

And the books, and my papers! Oh, my.

This is something that preoccupies me during my Worry Hour every night. My Worry Hour last night was at 2 AM. I've tried to tell myself that there is no way I can solve the logistics of distributing aid to the tsunami victims, end the war in Iraq, figure out how to stop the math-fights with my son, fix what's wrong with my book and the car, and magically restore order to the entire house in the middle of the night, but for some reason, that doesn't make any difference. It's still the Worry Hour.

Anyway, my worry right now is whether to order pizza or make an oven-puffed pancake for dinner, when I can predict exactly what the eldest will say about the oven-puffed pancake.

One of Those Days. You bet.