“Hi mom!” peep the shining faces as they pop around the screen then duck away giggling. Try writing. Just try it. With half your sleepy brain on right-fit words and half on “Can I has more more gam cackah?”

I, as the metaphorical chef here, have metaphorically been binge-watching a lot of metaphorical Beat Bobby Flay.

This is what 16 years of Catholic schooling hath wrought.

It’s hard to write about how your kids won’t leave you alone when they spend most of their time at school. So what’s a well-rested, hormonally-balanced, bodily-autonomy-loving gal to do?

If I only have ten minutes, what should I write about?

My attention multiplies because, like a goldfish that grows to fit its pond, it has the space.