The kids have just gone to bed. I'm afraid to type too loudly for fear that they will hear the sounds of my fingers tapping away on the keyboard, wake up and start demanding things. I can hear them up there, thinking about demanding something. Do you hear them? They're inhaling now, storing up oxygen in their lungs so that they can yell, "Mommy! Rub my back! Bring me my Lightning McQueen alarm clock! Fix my covers!" Like Cinderella, I will jump up and climb the stairs lest the children awaken and get even angrier. Then I'm really in trouble. I think I've watched too much Cinderella probably because I do imagine myself in that role far too often. Like when I'm on my hands and knees scrubbing yogurt off the floor as Charlie walks around the room with a yogurt-drenched spoon, using it to gesture emphatically at things. Or when I humbly offer up a lunch of grilled cheese and sliced pear, only to have it dashed to the floor in disgust. Maybe I need some cute little mice to follow me around and sing songs about what a great job I'm doing and how cute I look. And then it would be nice if they would babysit the kids and make me a new outfit to wear out on a date with my husband. Sigh... yes, some magical mice would be nice. That would solve everything.
Okay...I told myself I would work on my novel until Project Runway starts, so I better get to it. Have you seen Project Runway? A reality show about sewing...does it get any better?