Five Minutes

Five minutes to spare and that’s it. 

Maya’s on the floor, eating one of her shoes and squealing as usual.  Oh wait- now she’s pushing around her musical book like it’s a car.  Uh, yeah.  Pushed it right over next to the ottoman, is standing up on the book trying to crawl on top of the ottoman.  And now she’s mad because she still can’t make it up to the top.  Moves on to her bucket, throws that around, and is now yelling at her talking barnyard.  Yes, all of this occurs as I type.  Good lord.  Tweety is squaking, too.  My life is rarely quiet anymore. 

Coffee.  Please.

On the floor screaming.  Maya, not me.  Although I soon might be, too.

Challenging morning. 

No time to wallow.  There’s a foul smell lurking in the air and it’s not coming from Tweety.


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