We interrupt our regular programming to bring you Spring Break in the Peninsula Town (which should not be confused with November Break or Holiday Break or MLK Break or Winter Break or End-of-quarter Break or a week’s worth Minimum Day for conferences. Ahem.).
We interrupt our regular programming to bring you, no, not a trip to Maui, but instead several trips to The Container Store, the grocery store, the pharmacy, and the public library.
We interrupt last week’s warm-and-70 weather to bring you two days of non-stop rain.
We interrupt our regular programming to bring you one poet-mother working furiously in the pre-dawn hours and three early wakers.
We bring you many requests — one always different from another — for hot breakfasts, hot cocoa, hot tea, hot water bottles, Hot Tamales, and Hot Wheels.
We interrupt intentional revision to bring you revision-on-the-fly-oh-s&%T!-my-class-starts-in-an-hour-and-the-children-haven’t-been-fed.
We interrupt intentional meal planning and grocery shopping for the headlong, record-breaking fast trip for eggsmilkOJbreadTPstrawberriespears. We interrupt wholesome, homemade, real food, for the Thursday cave-in to corn dogs for lunch.
We interrupt environmental consciousness for the particular strand of guilt that accompanies paper plate use.
We interrupt long stretches of quiet with one thousand questions on the problem of suffering, life in other galaxies, and the existence of God. Not to mention human reproduction.
We bring you one mother who is trying to measure the interior of the closets in the new house, and three children talking to her all the while. We bring you many, many measurements taken twice or thrice, which may or may not be accurate.
We interrupt the reign of peace and calm with occasional losses of temper and, it’s true, this utterance: Don’t. Talk. To. Me. Right. Now.
We interrupt a part-time position as Deputy Ambassador (hours 3 – 8 p.m.) to the Republic of Siblinghood, with a full-time Ambassador position and the charge to negotiate a peace 72 times a day.
We interrupt a mother’s grand (or not so grand) plans with the not-so-subtle reminder that the point of being a parent is not to get your kids to do what you want them to do. Right now.
We bring you morning cuddles with lots of blankets. We bring you books read aloud, art projects, tennis games, playing Art Store. We bring you classic movies in the afternoons and favorite dinners.
We interrupt the usual routine with yelps of joy and fun, piles of wrestling children, filthy, and I mean filthy feet, and overheard conversations: “What does e pluribus unum mean?” “Oh, that’s Sacajawea’s boyfriend.” We bring you hours of children Nose-in-Book. We interrupt the usual flow of conversation to sing everything to the tune of “The Surrey With the Fringe On Top.” Y’know… just for fun.
We interrupt our regular programming to bring you the particular magical maddening beautiful exhausting exhilarating chaotic joy that is a house full of children, a storm of rapid star births in our little, blessed galaxy of home.