My boys are at the age where they talk. A lot.
They never shut up.
Here’s one of our conversations.
Me: Editing: What?
Eli: Um…so you come upstairs now.
Me: I’m working, Eli.
Eli: No. You’re done.
Me: Eli, I really need to get this done.
Eli stomps away, up the steps, down the hallway, and up the second set of steps.
Down comes Brett.
Me: Still editing: What, Brett?
Brett: You come up stairs now.
Me: Like I told Eli, I’m working. I need to get these edits done.
Brett: Well Eli is dead now.
Me: I take a deep breath. Try to keep a straight face and look at my oldest child: Your brother is dead now?
Me: Why is Eli dead?
Brett: I said so. So he is dead.
Me: Where is he dead?
Brett: Upstairs. In my room. Go get rid of him.
Me: I save my work. Shut my computer and walk alllllll the way up to where my youngest child is supposedly lying dead: Eli why are you playing? You’re supposed to be dead. I’m supposed to get rid of your body.
Eli: I’m not dead.
Me: I see this.
Brett: See I told you mom would come up if I said you were dead.
This is why my work doesn’t get done. My children pretend to be dead. (Don’t go thinking that all I do is work all day and ignore the boys. No. Those two have nothing but my attention. But when I have deadlines…shits gotta get done!)