The Bell Jar 

"Who's gonna open the F*%$#@ spaghetti jar", I wonder. Looking between my seven year old in his white hanes t-shirt with matchstick arms sticking out of the sleeves while holding his book titled "Diary of a wimpy kid", and my four year old, who's standing on her step stool doing dishes with her uniform as the wash cloth. It is the end of the day, 6:30, following work, school and sports, and I am busily trying to make a semi-homeade dinner of pasta and caesar salad. The thing is, the jar is impossible to open.  I have banged it with a fork, a spoon, the cheap can opener and finally, against the granite counter.

I look around frantically, realizing the desperation of the moment. The meaning behind it all. We have no fall back, no one to effortlessly pass the problem off to. The buck stops here, and forgive me for being a bit dramatic, but I feel terrified.

Yeah, tonight it's just a twist, but last night it was a bug and the week before that a flat tire, and the japanese gerbil escaping for three days. (Yes it really is a japanese one. extra small. and wierd) These things keep happening that are not my job. I can see myself, like an out of body experience (but a really shallow one) and I am standing there waiting, all expectantly like "when is someone coming to do this?" and then it dawning on me that Im IT.

I suppose the good thing is, I feel my own personal growth enlarge each time I do something I thought I couldnt and I have convinced myself that the small things are just as significant as the large in a very zen way.  But it has been true, yes, I caught the japanese gerbil with my own two hands and that was big, but then I also took my car for tires. And am supporting myself. And when I cant open the spaghetti jar, I figured out to just order pizza. So, ultimately, and finally, I am making my own decisions. Which a few years ago, I just couldnt do.