I’ll explain why I’m hiding in the basement in just a second. Let me paint you a picture, first, so we’re all on the same page.
It’s 3pm. I’m wearing a baseball tee and jeans, but you can’t tell because a 3-month old is strapped to my chest and chocolate covers my jeans from the birthday cake (Happy 2, Gus!) someone (not me) got into this morning. My shirt, for once, is remarkably clean. The infant is sleeping after an afternoon of horrific belly bubbles, so we’re not moving her even though I don’t plan on carrying her to sleep for the rest of her life. There’s a 5 year-old running around here, too. She’s carrying a garden bucket (inside) and a shovel (inside) while wearing a purple tutu.
Can you see us? Great.
We’re down here because there are toys and the tv and 200 square-feet of carpeting in an otherwise wood floor house. Wood flooring is echo-y, particularly when there is some kind of animal, bird, or dragon trapped in the wood stove pipe like today. It is clawing and flapping and screeching for dear life to GET. OUT. Now, this would be loud for anyone drawing breath but for my 5-year old daughter, it’s excruciating. She is falling apart with empathy and fear. We need to leave. It’s pouring rain outside, the birthday boy is still napping, AND the infant is attached to me… so leaving isn’t an option.
We are, like I said, in the basement.
Read the rest of the story over at baaaaa.com today, Folks. I promise, it’s worth the click.