As I sit pondering possible topics for this week’s column, my children keep cycling through the room, pausing to engage in bits of conversation with me. On the one hand, I want to yell at them to leave me alone; Momma is working! But on the other, I love that they still want to chat, even after we’ve spent the last five months basically on top of each other. So, I pause my writing, listen and marvel at the fantastic creatures my husband Doo and I have raised.
First, my 19-year-old twins “stop by.” A boy and a girl, they’ve always been good friends despite their very different personalities. My daughter asks me for help with her summer math class, but in a funny, baby-nerd voice. Her brother is feeding into the bit, asking her science-ey questions laced with Minecraft lingo. I have no idea what they’re saying but I am giggling, nonetheless.
Next up is our youngest. She’s in crisis mode, trying to decide her career path. She’s 16. Currently, she’s analyzing the pros and cons of becoming a surgeon versus an ER doctor. With her people skills and years in competitive dance, I’m recommending trauma. It suits everything about her.
Finally, our oldest makes an appearance. He launches into a passionate tirade on the latest political debacle, this time involving our travesty of a secretary of education. I nod in agreement, feeling the rage burn in my stomach. I shoo him away as soon as he comes up for air. I can’t write while seeing red!
Once again, my amazing offspring have come through. Thanks for the article fodder, kids!