It’s my job
I’d just spent two hours talking Kiki into believing that she can handle her homework load. Talking her through the process of organizing and drafting a novel (her English project) and the process of organizing and finding pictures for an illustrated Revolutionary War ABC book (her History project.) This intensive effort was interrupted by visitors I’d forgotten were coming, who sat in the messy front room to talk with Gleek about her upcoming baptism. I had to help Gleek reign herself in because it was all Very! Exciting! Then there were the video game squabbles which resulted in making everyone mad because I turned the game off. Then I had kids pinging around the kitchen because they were hungry and bored. I realized I had no clue what to make for dinner and Kiki, while much calmer, was still requiring a considerable amount of hand holding on her two huge projects.
In the midst of all of that, Link came to the top of the stairs and said “Mom. I need your help with the universe.”
This sums up my life. To my kids, I’m supposed to help with everything. I am the solver of all problems. If they just hand it to mom, it will all be okay again. And I scramble not to fail them, even if I am tired and frazzled from a hundred things all at once. I try my best to turn the world back right side up. In this case it was easy. Link’s “universe” was a set of nine plastic planets that needed to be hung from his ceiling. He’d been unable to think of the words Solar System.