next time pack the floor-length apron

We've minor-leauged it. We've zooed it. We've biked it. We've Browned it. Tooling around town with our kids has me on my toes by day and face-down by night. Yesterday, after the zoo, I told them I needed to rest my eyes for a minute. 45 minutes later, one kid is naked, the dinner baguette is half-devoured with a crumb-trail from the fridge, which stands open and an open container of cream cheese as the welcome mat. A lone fly circles the dirty dishes and someone has drawn on the futon frame with marker.

It is one thing to be a housewife on your home-turf, with your pit crew, a friend to meet you at the playground, a pal to meet up with at IKEA on a rainy morning, a great sitter who is eager to read ANOTHER Amelia Bedelia book. At home, I have my nooks. I have the phone-closet to duck into. I have the back deck for my chapter of Psalms and coffee. I even have the linen closet to stand in front of just to catch a deep breath. I think it was Susanna Wesley, the theologian's wife who was the mother of nine children. I read that when she was overwhelmed, she would pull her apron up over her head.

I like Providence but I have gotten lost every single day so far. All roads lead you to I-95 or over some weird bridge into a residential Brazilian neighborhood. And unlike Boston where the Charles River always gave me my bearings, one bridge takes you over a bay and another one over some random lake. Today, after I was spit out into yet another indistinguishable neighborhood, all four kids were fed up. Manny sighed impatiently, Clara shouted, "No, this can't be right!" Benicio pleaded, "Just turn around!" And poor Calliope craned her neck and then shoved her shoulders back against her seat in frustration.
Even on foot, I had to call Geoff, "I can't find your building. I am at Hope where it intersects with Benevolent."

I WILL become friends with my Google Map. And I WILL get the hang of this place.