I have an obsession — some would call it a weird obsession — with chore charts. I make lots of them. Simple ones and complex ones. Ones with hand-drawn pictures and ones with words and bullet points and diagrams. Ones in painstaking detail for each portion of the day, and ones that show a sweeping overview of the entire week.
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My stomach growled as I waited impatiently in the long breakfast line. The elderly lady in front of me was
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“Mama, you are the queen of crabby and tired!” proclaimed seven-year old Etta, hands on her hips. I glared at her. Me, crabby? I was NOT crabby, dammit! So what if I had snapped at her once or twice. Ok, maybe three or four times. “Finish your snack already!” “Stop hitting your brother!” “Don’t leave your candy wrapper lying around, I’m not your maid!”
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My shoulders tightened with resistance as soon as she said the words. “C’mon, Mama, you should ride one too!” We were at the Alderwood Mall in Lynnwood, contemplating the large, motorized animals for rent. Little kids zoomed around on zebras, hippos, and elephants, weaving their way around planters and bemused onlookers.
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