Last night, as Jr was picking apart a sunbutter sandwich, eating the filling with a spoon, and MaM was announcing, what, exactly she liked on her plate, and what she really didn’t like, BgK announced, “I don’t think people get how hard it is to do things around here.”
As I poured myself the last of the Shiraz, I asked, “Like what?”
“Like eat. And sleep,” he said, as he crossed the mine field of match box cars to join as at the table.
“Oh I think most of the people we know,” I said, catching Jr’s toss of a gummed piece of bread, “are right there with us, or have been there already.”
Right? Your houses have some crazy, right?
The 3 a.m. game of musical beds?
The extra minutes it takes to get out the door because it’s hard to put a jacket over fairy wings?
The mad hunt when the shrieking toddler doesn’t want just a cup of milk, he wants the milk in his one most favorite cup?
The simultaneous crying that breaks out when the younger bites the older–the older crying in pain, the younger crying because the older is crying?
You have some crazy, right? Please tell me some of your crazy. Please!