Robin had a dream one night that snakes were coming. She was worried about the kids and went out to chase the snakes off. Instead, the snakes got to the kids while she was out. Anyway, this is the gyst of the dream — it was more complicated and simple than that. Since then, the moral of the dream has evolved into a mommy maxim:

Don’t go chasing snakes.

I think moms have secret desires of saving the world and conquering the world and solving the world’s problems and becoming heroes. But we don’t realize that we already are superheroes and deserve Homeric epithets and peace prizes doing what we do: raising children.

I remember when Ingrid crawled to the edge of the stairs and turned that quick little turn that situates crawlers to their bottom in a second. She overdid it, though, and one little butt-cheek plopped on nothing. From across the room, I saw it all, saw her waver, saw her go. With a lunge and a volleyball dive, I was able to snatch her foot and save her from a topple of several feet.

When I pulled her up into my arms and quieted her from her scare, I looked around the empty rooms expecting cheers from a colliseum, a standing ovation meant for a victorious gladiator or a triumphant matador.

But it was just me and the baby.

Dang it!

But anyway, back to chasing snakes. I’m realizing that all this private eye stuff should be left to the lawyer and I need to get back to fixing the clog in my sink, making meals from scratch, and reading aloud. Who knows the effect we have on our children? Eienstein got the celebrity, but it was probably more to the credit of his mother’s lentil stew and walks in the Alps than anything else.

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