The Difference Between Two and Eleven

Walking along the side of the road...

Gummybear (2 years old): Car!
Me: Yes, honey. A car.
Gummybear: Car!
Me: Yes, honey. A car.
Dusty (eleven): Car!
Me: Yes, honey. A car.
Dusty: No, really. It's going to hit you.

Dusty says, "Hey, Gummybear, come be with the guys."

Coming out of the closet

The walls to my bedroom are now Ripe Apricot. And at three am, the orangey paint fumes set off the fire alarm.

Did you know that could happen? I didn't.

The waa-waa of the smoke detectors lifted me out of bed. The room was the dark of closed eyelids. Thinking it may be a fire, I grabbed the door knob—it wouldn't turn. I turned around and bumped into a wall, turned again into another wall. Like I was in a small box. I found the doorknob again—still wouldn't twist. It was like every nightmare you ever had.

The light came on. I was in the closet.

Missing my Family (on Vacation)

It is untrue that I've put the kitty food bowls on the dinner table. Sent myself flowers. Washed the floor. Okay, most of those aren't true.

What is true is that I never know what to do with myself without my kids around. My natural state is being tugged on. Maybe plug in the Xbox? Nah. Call up a friend? Do I have friends without kids?

*snaps fingers* I know—finish that novel. Opens the Macbook. So where was I? Type, type, type. Hmm. All the characters are missing their families.... Closes the Macbook. Seems that 'an empty lap' and 'no squabbling' is not happy making, after all. Not conducive to productive work.

So I've spent more time at my day job—because, damn it, if I'm not going to get anything done, I want to at least appear like I'm working. Get credit.

It is also untrue that there will be dirty dishes waiting. We have a dishwasher.