The Seven Day Switch

by Kelly Harms

“Please listen carefully, as the menu options have changed,” it tells me, and I wonder, Who, exactly, calls about a boot on their car enough times to master the impound line menu? But I listen carefully.

“You look at a few chores like it’s some great offense to your entire being—like your entire family is too good to cook or clean or take care of your home. Whereas that’s the whole ball game, Wendy! It’s a good meal and a loving family that will make for your kids’ happiness down the line, no matter what they choose to do for a living.

“Samuel, kid, you know what?” “What?” “Linus is pretty lucky to have you as a friend he hasn’t made yet.”

I’ve seen the research she did for it on her office computer, and it’s chock full of extremely daunting advice, like how you should never go to sleep at night without knowing your next seven days are planned and “goalmapped.” You should always be the first one in the household to wake up, because that is when studies show people do their most effective work. Assuming you can stay awake. Multitasking is bad, but also, when you are driving, you should always have a notes app available that you can dictate ideas into. Best to have a similar setup while in the shower. Stay away from distractions like social media, except when thinking outside the box, at which point consider following new people to change your perspective. Also good for changing your perspective: sitting in a new place in your office or home or working out of a coffee shop. But not a coffee shop with distractions, obviously. And try to never eat while you’re working. So a silent coffee shop where you’re the only one there, at five in the morning, without your phone, and with nothing to eat.

That’s when I started taking care of my own siblings while my mom was at work, and that’s when I felt most of use.

That realization that no matter how different Wendy and I may be, we are in complete alignment on this most vital thing.

How much we all give up, we mothers. How much we willingly hand over. Our bodies. Sleep. Sometimes safety. Often passion. And, of course, our dreams. We’ll give up our very dreams, if that’s what it takes to see to theirs.

I have time to think now, and it’s very dangerous. Basically, the second I slowed down—by force, hallucination, magic, or some combination of all three—every single hole in my drywall, real and metaphorical, has started to show through.

And as I well know, the secret to not thinking about how awful things are is just staying very, very busy.

I hope she can realize that becoming Celeste is the best terrible thing that’s ever happened to me.

90 percent of what I was doing to fill my days feels . . . just a little empty compared to the real pleasures of my life. It’s not the stuff I do that gives my life meaning. It’s the people I do it for.

working on her. “What a silly thing to say. Perhaps you prefer the work at your office to the work of parenting, but that’s not the same as putting your job before your children. That’s just called being a normal grown-up who prefers doing grown-up things.”

I tell him about the themed bento box lunches and the dollar-per-Dixie-cup gazpacho and the over-the-top science fair cupcakes—not that there is anything overtly wrong with them—but how instead of somehow making me worthy, they are keeping the people I want to know at a distance. They are a disguise I put on to justify my existence.

“It’s kind of a relief,” Wendy admits. “Before last week I thought your kids were perfect. Too perfect.” “They are perfect,” I tell her. “This is just what perfect looks like.” “Messy,” says Wendy. “Crazy,” I tell her. “Bookish,” she replies. “Sporty,” I say back. “At home,” she says. “At work,” I reply. “Eating sidewalk chalk . .