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Typical Saturday chaos

April 30, 2011 - Jennifer Brookens
Oh what fun it is to spend a Saturday morning trying to work.

And to borrow an obnoxious phrase from the early '90s, "NOT!"

In an attempt to be more productive on the Hometown Magazine this year, I have actually decided that I am going to try and crank out a story at least once a week all the way to the June deadline. (Pause here to hear my co-workers roaring with laughter. This is the resolve I make every year, and it usually falters after the first go-round. Anyone who wants to start placing their odds, talk with my bookie). Anyway, to make this happen, I pack up my lappie this morning and prepare to head to the library for peace and quiet.

Error #1 - Letting someone know of my plan. "Can I come with you," asks my daughter. Mainly because I think she's willing to do anything to play her little Avatar games on my laptop. Hmmm... she's 7, can get her own library card, and maybe use a public terminal for a bit? I relent. Naturally, it ends up being a comedy of errors trying to get her to hurry up and get dressed, letting The Boy down because he sees us getting ready and he doesn't get to come along, and trying to get my notes, computer accessories, etc. packed into my tote. (PS - Darling daughter, I found that bagel you "lost" a few weeks ago. You can use it as a discus now.)

Error #2 - Assuming the mother/daughter library time would go as planned. How thrilled was I when my daughter decides she wants to read instead of play on the computer. But now - as promised - I let her have a form to get her own library card. Then come the questions: What's my middle initial? What do they mean street address? What's our zip code? These questions are fair enough, but when I'm trying to type something else, it becomes interference. I'm sure the person I was writing about doesn't want her age to be listed as 56031. A short while later, library card in hand, The Girl comes back with a stack of books. But then the distractions begin again. "I'm hungry." "When are we going home?" "Can you read this to me?" I try to bribe her with a trip to Jakes Pizza if she will be patient and let me finish. It only works for 2 minutes before I hear the muttering, the loud disgusted sighs. I also realize she lied about brushing her teeth this morning as her loud sighs reach my side of the table.

Error #3 - The bribe comes back to haunt me. Finally, her glares and muttering are too much and I say, "That's it. We're going home." Another sigh. "It's OK. I'm just hungry, that's all." Still pouty. I've had it. The laptop slams closed, and books and papers are being crammed back into the tote. Daughter tries to take it back, but it's too late. She bursts into tears as we turn to walk towards home instead of downtown to the pizza place. "Please, I'll do anything," my daughter says through sobs behind me, trying to barter. Too bad the only thing I had wanted her to do was be patient. Now it looks like peanut butter sandwiches. Again.

Sure enough, I finish my article just as she finishes her sandwich, and her sobbing fit is gone. She still wants to know if maybe we can try to go for pizza tonight then? "How's your room?" I ask. She went upstairs half an hour ago, and I haven't seen her since.

Anyone wanna place bets on this one, too?


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