My children, my beautiful, adorable, lovable daughters, do not know how to listen to their mother. Particularly when listening to said individual means leaving her presence for a defined period of time so that work (paying work…food on the table roof over your head clothes on your back kind of work) can. Finally. Get. Done.

I have been waiting all day for a DVD to arrive so I can upload some video to urbanmoms.ca (that’s the paying gig I got me, and a fine one it is, too, so check it out). And at 6:30 or so it hits me…I should check the mailbox for it. I was expecting it to come to the door (couriers usually do) and I had checked there several times, but we do live way out in the beyond of suburbia, so we have one of those infernal “superboxes” (there’s nothing super about it, trust me) where you have to walk up to this blight on the landscape and use a very-likely-to-get-lost key to open your mailbox.

In any event, I opened the box and there was the “courier” package with the DVD. That’s what you get when Canada Post runs a courier service…delivery guaranteed by noon – to a mailbox a block away. Arrgh.

So now, we’re back home and it’s too early to just pack them off to bed (they are 7 and 4.5 after all) so I very clearly explained to them:

“Mommy has to do some work now. I have to put this movie on urbanmoms. That means you have to find something to do on your own until bedtime so I can work. And if you need anything, you’ll have to ask Daddy. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

“Yes Mommy. We understand.”

They most definitely do not understand, for within 1:30 of loading the video (I know this, because my computer times these kinds of actions) both girls were in my office, in my face, trying to climb up onto my lap, asking for chips (huh? chips? after dinner? wha?) and needing to show me their homework.

Do they forget that they have a male progenitor who is also an adult and capable of 1) getting them chips (although I feel justified to question his judgement if he concedes to that demand) and 2) checking grade two spelling words? No, but they do forget that I have placed him in the role of primary caregiver for the next hour.

I know, I know. Not unusual, and not that bad in the grand scheme of things. It’s just, right now, at 7:15 p.m. on a Tuesday night, I have the proverbial one nerve left, and EVERYBODY’S getting on it. Yes, even you would be getting on it if you were here.

*sigh*

Should I have a glass of wine? Or Baileys? Wait a minute, do I have a glass of wine, or Baileys? No? Well, I guess a fresh can of Diet Pepsi will have to do.

Until next time!

Most of the time we actually do love each other!