I haven't written much of anything personal or public since Florida almost three months ago. Seems like a lifetime.

Death is hard on those who have never lost a human loved one, someone he or she was especially close to. We have to pretend that we understand, that we know how it is, that acting like a little bitch for weeks on end is A-ok because your mother died. We pretend, and we pretend well.

Karol's death was hard on my husband. Really, it was hard on us all, but especially him. He was a momma's boy, but he hadn't quite come to terms with his anger with her for various sins (imagined and real) that she committed during her lifetime, specifically during his childhood. I don't know whether he's come to terms with his anger/love dichotomy or not. I'd like to imagine that he let go of the whole mess at her deathbed. I guess, ultimately, it's between the man and the (Wo)Man upstairs.

We've been scrambling to find work - him, an art teaching job, me, anything. Turns out 'anything' equals Lecturer at my university. Rad.

I've been sitting at home watching my flobbity white thighs become more flobbity, cooking and cleaning for people who don't even notice, playing chauffeur and accountant and lover and writing crappy articles for a crappy paper and staring at this nastydirtydesk for almost a year now. Sure, it was my choice to stay home.

Right, right. Whatever.

I'm thrilled to go back to work, where I will blissfully have my own office, four classes full of children (and others) to instruct in the wiley ways of college English. The best part? I can close my office door when I don't want to see people. Oh, and sometimes students call me "Doctor," which is superbad because I'm not a Doctor. I'm an M.A. I didn't correct them when I taught in grad school, and I won't correct them now.

I have visions of reviewing texts for journals/magazines/websites, conference papers, and writing blurbs for out-of-the-way Southwest literary journals. After more than a year away from the blissfully calming academic scene, I'll be returning. I'm so happy that I could paint my bedroom red.

M will be staying home with the little man, unless he finds a kickass job. I question his ability to do all of the things I so effortlessly do every day. I guess domestic bliss/multitasking is a learning process for all.

In other news, the Fort Concho neighborhood of this rather unassuming little city has been overrun with news crews, scared school administrators, nurses, CPS officials, tons of Po-Po, CASA peeps, and, of course, displaced Eldorado FLDS folks. Somewhere close to 550 of them. My kid goes to the elementary school abutting the Fort. It's madness.

It's the most this town has seen since...well...ever, I think.

We'll all be glad when it's over.