Tags: In This Issue, Parenting
It's 5:40 PM.
I made dinner for the kids so the kitchen is a wreck.
From where I sit, I see my son, shirtless, dragging out small kitchen appliances from the cabinets. He found a way to plug them in to one another and is pretending to make "smoothies." From a distance his face looks like the Joker from Batman. Upon closer inspection you can tell it's leftover tomato soup from dinner.
To my left, my youngest sits in her high chair. Tonight is the first time she's signed "more" and has been doing so for the last 30 minutes. I continue to give her fistful after fistful of broccoli. I also pray that my supply of broccoli outlasts her demand or I'm in big trouble. She's also speaking in what sounds like complete sentences, but it's definitely not English.
To my right, my oldest daughter has been talking nonstop about Christmas, only eight short months away. She decides we should get an artificial tree. Next she rattles off 100 things she wants for Christmas, and then ultimately decides her favorite thing about Christmas is spending time with her "ancestors." Then she changes topics and decides she might want to be an evil witch for Halloween. Without skipping a beat she goes on to organizing a game of two person heads up 7up with her brother.
While all this is going on I look in the living room and see two things, first there is a magazine ripped to shreds. I either didn't notice this earlier or didn't care enough to stop it from happening while I was cooking. The second thing I see is a trail of clean laundry that I was planning to fold today but never did. An hour ago it was piled in a chair, now it stretches from the back door to the front of the house.
Welcome to my life.