I actually said to my husband today that I understand why Sylvia Plath put her head in an oven. Don't get me wrong -- I'm not suicidal. I was joking. But, to be a writer and a mother of two young children that won't take naps and won't listen is enough to tug and pull at the most iron of nerves. That quiet desperation that every mother feels when the kids are crying and the laundry needs be done and the clutter of the house is pushing in on her is real and often unsaid (or unheard).