October 13, 2013  □  Arlington, Virginia

I have just moved. All my boxes are unpacked and I’m proud of the fact that everything is now put away—clothes—dishes—everything.

Rebecca is in first grade. Her friend has slept over last night and they need breakfast before going to school, which will start at 8 a.m.

What can I feed them that’s fast? No problem; I know just where I’ve put the oatmeal, and here’s the microwave. There is just enough oatmeal in the box for the two of them. I make the hot cereal in the microwave and look for bowls. After a considerable search I find two colorful ones, different solid colors on the outside, white on the inside. I divide the oatmeal. Now to find spoons. Unfortunately, I have stowed clothing in all the kitchen drawers and cupboards—a bad idea, I now realize. I’ll have to rearrange everything—later. So where are the spoons?

I search frantically for spoons. I’m afraid the girls will get tired of waiting, so I run to where they’re sitting—in a sort of communal dining room. Maybe someone else has already offered them food? No, they’re waiting. I race back, searching, now frantic, pulling clothes out of drawers and shelves. There are even socks in the spice rack! I leave a mess wherever I go. Finally I find spoons, but now I can’t find the bowls of oatmeal. Must have put them down some time during the spoon search. But where? It’s eight o’clock! Again I run back to where the girls wait. They’re upset but still waiting. Someone else says “It won’t kill them to be late; they need breakfast.”

Again I’m searching, searching for the cereal. Where did I leave it? I run into my mother, but she doesn’t know. I begin to worry, what if Rebecca’s friend doesn’t eat plain oatmeal like Rebecca does? I need to find sugar, in case that’s what she wants. Maybe I can get one of those little packets of sugar at a nearby restaurant. So much to do! So little time! 

My apartment begins to deteriorate. I have to climb hills to get around, I have to jump down off boulders. I have to cross a river on a rickety little bridge. And by now the oatmeal must be cold; When I find it I’ll have to reheat it in the microwave.

It begins to rain. This will ruin the cereal, wherever it is. Of course I sit down on a rock and cry. Of course I wake up—dry, relieved.