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Sunday, October 17, 2010


I wake up on Saturday morning, canning behind me, and decide this is going to be a relaxing day. I wander from room to room, playing with a child here, reading a magazine there. The hardest thing I do is gather raspberries and make breakfast. We have leftovers for lunch.
   At a quiet moment in the day, I head to my bedroom. I pull down the package of Oreos I've hidden in my closet and take out three. I turn on my computer to check e-mail and get caught up in an unexpectedly urgent one. I have to consult my spouse on this and I leave to find him, the Oreos forgotten.
   My daughter is making muffins in the kitchen. She asks me to put the batter in the cups because I am better at it. My statement that I am better because I have practiced is lost on her, so I agree to the job. John comes bounding in. "You back, Mom?" Back from where? "Dad said you dispapeawd." Yes, I am back from disappearing.
  "What you makin?" Muffins. His eyes light up. "Can I hep you?" He happily pushes his chair right into my spot, clambering up. "I wannoo cwack da eggs." Sorry, bud, no eggs. Stormclouds threaten. But you can stir in blueberries! Ah! Danger averted. He stirs while I place the paper cups in the muffin tin. "I'll wu-pwap dem in the pan, Mom." You'll what? "I wanna wu-pwap dem!" he repeats, holding a sloppy spoonful of batter up. Oh! Wu-pwap! How 'bout I wu-pwap the batter in the cups and you can lick the spoon? He pouts but it's ok.
  Muffins safely in the oven, I return to my room and the pending e-mail. I'm wrapping it up when I notice one Oreo left next to my computer. Hmm. Weren't there three? I grimace. I get two more and open up the game I play sometimes when I don't want to do anything else. Suddenly Blake and John are at my elbow. They spot the Oreos like hawks after a mouse.
   "Can I have a cookie?" they chorus. I sigh. Yes, you can have a cookie. The third goes to the baby who has finally awoken from his nap. I finish my game and rise to get yet another set of cookies when Brigham runs into the room. "Where's my cookie?" Your cookie? I am imperious. "Yeah! We get a cookie every day!" I don't know where you got that one. We've only had Oreos one day this week. He is undeterred. "So can I have a cookie, and one for Sam, too?" The friend. I deposit the cookies from my hand into his.
  One left. I shake the package and find one more. My husband strolls in. "Oh, we're having Oreos?" I smile weakly and give him a cookie. Then I eat mine before anyone else can call it.

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