Let's Make A Deal...

I learned at an early age life is all about trade-offs. If I wanted to play with my friends, I had to take my bratty little brother with me, if I wanted straight blond hair like Marsha Brady, I had to lay my head on the ironing board and let my older cousin iron it, which was the only way we had to do so back when you wanted straight hair like Marsha Brady's if you had curly hair like mine. It just got worse from there... By the time I was a teen I knew exactly how many sit-ups I had to trade for a one pound bag of M&M's. I won't even mention how much wheeling and dealing had to go on in sixteen years of marriage.

But, I've got an eight year old who is well on his way to putting Monte Hall to shame. (If you don't know who Monte Hall is, chances are good you never ironed your hair to look like Marsha Brady either)

I always announce to my sons, clearly and firmly, when I will be writing. I even go so far as to post a sign on the door that states: UNLESS YOU ARE BLEEDING AND/OR ON FIRE, DO NOT DISTURB! I diligently ignore the twelve year old crawling into the room on his hands and knees swearing he is weak from hunger, because I heard him in the kitchen arm wrestling his brother for the last piece of the large pizza I ordered less than an hour ago. And when I hear the eight year old screaming at the top of his lungs that his brother is killing him, I assure myself it isn't so because the twelve year old wouldn't risk being grounded from the PS3...even for the satisfaction of being an only child.

But, I know it's coming.

And sure enough, at a particularly pivotal moment in the story, the eight year old enters the room... He has the face of an angel, with big brown eyes and pale blond hair, and he bats those long eyelashes he got from his father, because Lord knows he did not get them from me, and he says, "Mama, can't you spend just a little time with me?"

Ten minutes later he skips out of the room having secured yet another deal in the constant bartering that defines my sanity. My hero and heroine get to get busy, and the eight year old gets chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast in the morning and a trip to Dollywood.

I am so going to send that kid to law school!