I put so much pressure on myself early today that by the middle of the afternoon I'd flat given up. In the morning I was trying to please everybody, and trust me, everybody wanted something from me. I was up in the loft typing forms and down in the bedroom digging through boxes. At the same time.

Eventually I realized I couldn't perform miracles. I don't know why that revelation didn't come to me sooner, because it would have saved me from sinking to the rocky bottom. No, as a matter of fact, I can't walk on water. Please don't ask me to try again.

Some of the things I was looking for never did turn up. I'm almost sure I never had them, because I hardly ever lose things completely. It might take me all day and half the night to find it, but if I have it and you want it, I'll get it for you somehow. But when I hear "Tim didn't keep his copy and he hopes you have one," and I know it's something that Tim never bothered to send me in the first place, it stops being my problem.

Okay, it's still my problem in the sense that I have to explain carefully to everyone involved why I can't make something appear out of the air. Then it stops being my problem — until a week or a month from now we forget and start this lame little dance all over again.

No matter how many times they ask me, though, I can't mold my dust bunnies into puppies and kittens. You can still pet them if you want, for all the satisfaction you might get out of that.

That's my day. My night was a little trip to Tammy and David's to watch Survivor and read to the boys and check out the baby's room. To say they're ready for Aiden's arrival would be a huge understatement (although you can never be totally prepared for the altered dynamic a new arrival brings to a family). They're as ready as they can possibly be, though. Everything else is magical, mystical and utterly unpredictable. As it should be, I suppose.