Five women of tempers diverse -- the savage, the child, coquette, scholar and friend -- abide in my household together, a sisterhood. In the morning the child wakes warm and sheltered in a soft blanket, hearing the waking city in her silence. The friend hops quickly into a hot shower, a song in her mind to prepare for her day of service. The savage brushes off her heated dream and takes a knife from its rack to dice lunch, preoccupied. The scholar dons a suit and packs a book of reference, scolding the coquette for her lipstick applied with too much shimmer and a wink. Throughout the day my friend will take time to reassure her coworkers of their worth and validity while the flirt is sure to toss an extra smile at some interested administrator and laugh to herself at the hopelessness of his desire. My intellect will plan and prepare an ordered success and organize and direct, while the child dreams silently of a protected moment, her back to a corner, her eyes down. The animal of my house may cut her finger, quite by mistake and watch her blood well up red and sweet, clean it quickly with her tongue rather than a kleenex and reflect bemusedly at its flavor. And on the way home, this savage flips radio stations to find distorted guitar and turns up the volumn while her sister coquette dances lightheartedly, noticing the driver in the next lane and flashing him a coy smile. The scholar needs no station but the philosophical stream of thought in her mind, but may find a quiet classical channel to comfort the child. My friend sings contentedly to jazz until her daughter calls attention to the back seat, when she will simply chat with the two year old about the day. The savage wants rare steak for dinner, the scholar, salad. The child prefers chocolate pudding and coquette thinks that is fine, if someone else prepares, but comments it would be more fun naked. Friend will cook chicken for the lot of us, and out of combined laziness and indecision we all agree upon it. Later, coquette will paint Majellyn's nails and scholar will instruct as she picks up her toys. Friend is apt to read her Dr. Seuss while the childlike will hold her quiet and warm as she falls asleep. Soon after, savage grows quiet, smouldering in some unfilled desire as we all share reflections of the day and divide whatever work is yet to do. Before we retire, each chooses a book to read from, if only a little. The scholar her philosophy, the savage brutal fantasy, coquette prefers to chat online, as friend checks email and glances at some life-peace article. The child will consume some quiet poetry and excuse herself with a blanket. Coquette will chat too long, and savage only works up an unslumbering desire. Scholar may take up the pen, then responsibly look at the clock and think better of it. Friend takes two teddy bears and a ball to Majellyn's room before retiring. And once in a bedroom, each woman wants a candle lit for her own reasons before hopping, sliding, slipping quietly or collapsing into her bed. I whisper a grateful prayer, reflecting on the household -- five women and the two year old Majellyn. Five so different, so paradoxically compatible. Five women, and one, and I drift off in exhaustion to dream of fantasies gentle, wise, fun, compassionate and horrible at once and wake again tomorrow to face my day alone, the five of me.