EARLY SATURDAY MORN-ing. Too early. Only 5:45 a.m. and my boys, Collin, four, and Connor, two, were already going full steam. They whizzed by me as I groped my way toward the coffeemaker.
Crash! Waah!
I whirled around to find Connor on his back, wailing, a box of cereal bars scattered on the floor around him. Before I could say anything, he popped up and chased our dog, Eppie, around the kitchen.
“This milk tastes funny, Mommy.” Collin thrust a sippy cup into my hands.
Milk? We’d been out of milk for a couple of days. “Where did you get that?” I demanded, snatching the cup away.
“Under the couch,” Collin said. The living room was strewn with toys and laundry waiting to be folded. Who knew how long ago…