I don't want to squelch their imaginations. But the four of them do move through the house like a compact tornado, changing direction faster than I can track. I'm living in a pit of creative playthings, and there's nowhere to set down my teacup.
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The truth is, right now, today, I feel full. As in: I am operating at full capacity.
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My kids may not know what Nickelodeon is. They may have never set foot in a McDonald's. They don't know Miley from Britney. But by golly, they will have seen Michael Phelps collect gold medals like bottle caps.
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I can’t fake an unflappable fun mommy façade for one whole day, and Dane’s going to be gone all week?
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I’d prefer to imagine that Ms. Opinionated and Company are trying to inquire after my own well-being—my mental health, maybe, or my level of fatigue (I’m fine, thanks)—but the message they’re conveying is not so much one of concern as of distaste.
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