Sometimes I have too many pots on the stove. Writing in multiple genres, editing, involvement in political actions, performing arts/fitness programs, volunteer work, domestic engineering (ha! ha!), raising an energetic, testosterone-laden boy and managing to coddle a husband who wants and needs my attention, leave me often feeling like I’m about to ignite. And that wouldn’t be pretty. Wait!—let me think about that—no, that would not be pretty. Besides, who wants to scrape little-miss-dancer-chick off the floor—before or after combustion?