FROM THE FILES: REGRETS OF THE DOMESTIC GODDESS

Here's moi refrigerator.

Yes, it's an elegant refrigerator. Bespeaks the original elegant (!) design to my kitchen as a place where one doesn't actually go to cook but, uh, microwave. So elegant kitchen where kitchenware like mixers (snort: as if I bake) were chosen for sculptural qualities as much as for their utility.

But after I became a Mom nearly four years ago now (!), a problem surfaced. This elegant door to my refrigerator doesn't allow for refrigerator magnets. Where I may have wanted to screw elegance and cover it with all types of Mom tsotchkes, I can't because said elegant door isn't magnetize-able. Hence, the blog-as-refrigerator! To wit, here's Michael's Mother's Day card to me this year!

There's a long story to why I got it belatedly. What I will share is how he apparently had Googled to come up with a poet-related saying to scribble onto his card and what he chose (sniffle) is:

My mother is a poem I'll never be able to write, though everything I write is a poem to my mother.
--Sharon Doubiago

Sniffle.

And because we're also all about exploring the artistic process on this blog, he apparently copied the image from a book on my To-Read stack. Unfortunately, it was the stack related to serial killers but, whatever:

It's all so precious, ain't it!

And now I also know another definition of "Mom" -- it's a woman with a refrigerator upon which you can tack on refrigerator magnets for displaying the marvels of your child....! Who'da thunk!