image credit: sarmonster.net
It occurred to me today, while responding to at least three interruptions while I was taking a shower in a locked bathroom, that parenting five children is a lot like playing Whack-a-mole. I am required to be ever vigilant, watching for little heads to pop and need something. Instead of whacking them (don't tempt me), I must quickly discern what the situation requires and deliver it promptly, leaving me free to respond to the next popping head.
Put your head down on a pillow? A head pops, needing a band-aid or a barf bucket. Sit down to Facebook? A head pops, needing a time-out or a missing sock. Attempt a conversation with another adult? A head pops, needing to process hurt feelings or exhibiting signs of developmental upheaval by shrieking at regular intervals. Try to watch something on TV or read a book in peace? Two heads pop, requiring you to step in as referee, which will inevitably end with one of the heads thinking you are evil and mean and accusing you of withholding your love and affection.
The best you can hope for is a positive ratio of non-popping heads to popping ones. Or you can hope that someone steals the mallet and whacks you into blessed unconsciousness.
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