I don’t know why any mother would want to be President. For all the glamor, it strikes me that there’s little difference between the “Mommy!” “Mo-o-o-o-m-m-m!” “Bookworm!” “Mommy, listen!” “Mommy, I want….” “Bookworm, why didn’t you?” that I get perpetually, and the “Mr. President!” “Mr. President!” “Mr. President!” that the President gets ambushed with all the time.
I haven’t blogged today because I’ve had three people demanding my undivided attention, all of them undeterred by the fact that I have paying work to do with Monday morning deadlines. My ambition isn’t to be President, it’s to be a hermit.
Peace has only come now because they’ve answered the TV’s siren song. Yaay, TV!
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