The kids played quietly upstairs yesterday and I had some time to kill before I needed to figure out dinner. My body and my brain desperately needed a power catnap to refresh the systems. I also needed a cookie. I shoved one in my mouth and plopped on the couch without a moment to spare. The radar had gone off and the kids came in search of me. It never fails. They know when I’m trying to relax. But I closed my eyes and hoped they would get the hint.
My son draped himself in the chair and started gabbing about his Pokemon cards, spouting off names and stats that had no interest to me. “Mmm-hmm,” I moaned sleepily. Thump, thump, thud. My daughter arrived and rolled next to me on the couch. Like the good sleuth she is, she tapped in to a familiar scent and started sniffing. “What smells so good?” Her nose was awfully close to my mouth. “I-don-nnoo,” I managed. Sniff, sniff. Sniff, sniff. She smelled my arm, my face, my mouth again. I opened my eyes. Her big blue eyes almost touched mine. “I think it’s your mouth,” she concluded. I was quite afraid she was going to lick me.
“Can I trade my cards, Mom?” my son asked.
“I don’t care,” I said.
“Boop, boop, boop, boop, boop.” One of the kids started beeping.
“Hey, Mom,” my son said, “look at all my cards!”
“In case you can’t tell, I’m trying to take a nap,” I finally said. Can’t they take a hint?
“Ha, ha! Mommy still takes na-aps!” my son sang.
“Mommy is a two-year-old!” my daughter chimed in.
“Evidently this is not going to happen,” I said. I got up and out of there, exasperated. Dinner would get an early start after all. Where did they go when I got up? Back upstairs to play.