"Howcome I'm always the poop checker?"

My favorite line from the movie "Ice Age" - so short, and yet it says so much.

There's a poop checker in every house, isn't there. There are two in our house, myself and my husband. He's a pretty helpful guy, is Dan. If you toss a diaper in his direction, he'll dutifully ask to be pointed in the direction of the baby with the full britches. (I just love that man o' mine.)

He's a super guy. If there are dishes to be done, he does them. If his shoes stick to the kitchen floor, he'll mop it. If he can't see through the sliding glass door, he'll wash it. Truly, I don't deserve him.

But let's face it, there are some things that only a mother can do.

We are the keepers of the Cheerios, the washers of bottles (or boobies), the finders of blankies. We pick hair off binkies, gum out of hair, and toys out of toilets.

We cut the crusts off the PB&J, put a dot of ketchup on every single tater tot, and make sure the peas aren't touching the mashed potatoes (the horror!).

We always have juice in the fridge, crackers in the purse, and tissue in the pocket.

We make sure the lovey is washed and dry by bedtime. We know exactly how toasty you like your toast. And somehow our macaroni and cheese is perfect every time.

My point? I guess I don't have one. I didn't think that far ahead. (My coffee pot is empty and the brain matter is a little sluggish this afternoon.) I'm just hoping that, as I journal the ups and downs of my mundane little life, you might find yourself saying, "Yes! That happened to me last week!" or "I totally understand what this woman is saying!"

You might find that you aren't a crazy whacked-out mess after all. Won't that be nice?