We were standing in the kitchen with the girls running laps and shrieking at the top of their lungs, the dog in hot pursuit, when I realized that if dinner wasn’t done in 30 minutes, the catastrophic domino effect would begin—bedtime would be so late that it would box out story time, which would squelch the chance of making lunches ahead of time unless I pushed my own bedtime later. Then just as I burned my hand on the edge of the burner another request came in. I couldn’t understand it so much as I felt it pelting against me as she repeated it. It was with a strident note in my voice that I spat that I had to make dinner. Murphy’s Law…
Tagged: daughters, life, working mom