|Sitting at my feet, asking persistant questions whilst I work|
|The dog needs a friend|
|And the opinionated 12 year old weighs in on the chaos|
today my 3rd born son said, "i can't hear myself think! you people! geez." the room fell silent. it was hard not to feel a little sorry for the guy. we have a lively household. the dog and rabbit don't help matters.
i have noticed something: having children means having no
privacy personal space. zero. zilch. my dresser drawers are hiding places for treasured marbles. my makeup is used to paint clown's faces. the piece of chocolate i was saving is squandered on an undeserving, unappreciative palette. i could go on, but you get the picture. surely you understand. or know someone who does.
just now one child began speaking to me completely obvious of the computer on my lap. another one found a newfangled contraption in MY desk box tucked away in the basement that he desires to keep (even though he has no idea what it is-it's a staple remover). boys running through the room. shouting to me in the bathroom. interrupting my scolds with their wistful monologues of jet packs and planet ownership. i am a nobody to my offspring. a mother in her own home is …o, what is that phrase? o, yeah! jesus said, "a prophet in his own country has no honor". and he was speaking of himself. the creator of mankind. so who am i? not a paranoid schizophrenic-even though i do constantly hear voices. but those voices are real. they are the voices of my children.