View from the Xbox
Sometimes, it’s not just the milk that goes bad.
Sometimes when I’ve feeling particularly adventuresome, I peel the “paid” sticker off my gallon of milk, covertly exit the store, and wait for a security thug to chase me to my minivan. They’ll never take me alive! I shake my fist out the window and laugh as I peel out of the parking lot. It’s such a rush that I almost drop my receipt.
This is not my idea of a “critter.”
After months of being photographed in the wee hours of the morning scooping dog poop in my sweatpants, flip-flops and flannel, I finally persuaded Doug to change the location of his critter cam. Within hours, at a watering hole just beyond the kids’ playscape, it captured a most forbidding visitor.
Somewhere in the distance, I heard a desperate scream.
After nearly tumbling down a flight of stairs and thereby breaking every limb, appendage and digit on my body, it occurred to me that there is one thing about parenting that I will never learn: children will utter “I would like a drink of water” with the same urgency as “I’ve fallen out the window and am dangling from the ledge by a toenail over a vat of hot oil teeming with child-eating piranhas.”
Heart, you may start beating again.