So I'm into the Fall Semester, Five Classes, Five Preps, one of them a new class, which I just got handed and am thus designing as I teach it, and you won't have forgotten that I am concurrently writing the third novel of my SF trilogy as well -- as you can imagine, this leaves little time on the ground for raising a seven year old.
In any case, as we're driving home from school (I picked her up, as Tuesday is mr. delagar's day up the hill in graduate school) she asks what we're going to do that evening. "Well," I said, "you're going to read your Hank books, Daddy's going to teach his engineers, and I thought I'd write."
She begins to wail. "Oh, please, Mama, oh, please, can't you spend just a little time with me?"
Ai, these kids and their guilt.
So I took last night off, and spent some time with her. We did some laundry together, we made a pizza, we ate dinner together and talked about her childhood (yes, that's how she put it, talking about her childhood, all those vast years ago when she was little) and mine, we made a pudding for dessert, we retired to the TV room to watch House together. It was a Girl's Night at Home.
I did have to stay up until midnight, after House, prepping for my classes, but c'est la vie, this parenthood, it's a bitch, you know.
9 hours ago