Someone left Nickelodeon on and the noise annoys me, but if I walk ten feet over to snap it off, someone will spring into sight and turn it back on. My daughter is playing outside wearing a pink skort with yellow dots, cotton shirt, and black parka. She is not wearing socks or shoes. Two of my boys are in the Boy Cave playing video games, sniffing the air and wondering when they’ll be allowed to eat breakfast burritos. The cubed potatoes are still cooking. Three or four stray boys are playing here, too. And it sounds like someone is upstairs, though I have no idea who that might be.
In half an hour, my husband will pick up our 9-year old and take him to football practice. Before then, I will fish his stained polyester pants from the dryer, insert the pads and lace him into his protective gear. When they leave, I will inform the neighborhood kids that it’s time to go home. My teenagers will shower (oh, how I hope they shower) and I’ll drive them to church for youth group.
When I return home with my chatty daughter, I’ll read (On Writing Well
by Zinsser) while she showers.
How I look forward to that moment.