Let me just say first, before I get rolling here, that I love my kids more than anything in this universe and life itself.

When I was younger I envisioned getting married and having two kids. A boy first and a girl second.

I have got to get more specific with my goals.

I got married and I got pregnant and had a boy. By that time my marriage was already over. I didn’t know it but it was and my hope for a second child was on hold.

I rolled with the punches.

I got married again and got pregnant again and had a little girl. The only problem was that it was ten years after the boy was born. I also divorced shortly after the little girl was born.

I convinced myself that all was fine. A ten year spread was no big deal. In fact, it would save me a lot of bickering that most siblings experience.


My kids bicker and fight over the most incredibly stupid things.

The problem with the ten year split is that I get glimmers of hope with my oldest child. I am occasionally shown the light at the end of the tunnel. We are talking about colleges right now. We are discussing his plans for his future. We are having adult conversations.

While having these adult conversations my mind starts to wander. I start to think about what I can do with his room in a year when he leaves for one of the colleges we are discussing. He has the basement and that is a lot of real estate and I have plans for it.

And then I walk into the living room and step on a Midnight Blue Crayola and I am snapped back into reality.

I have twelve more years.

At least.

Worse yet, let’s do the math, son will be 28 when daughter is 18. Do you know what that means? That means, in all likelihood, that there will be a grandchild leaving Midnight Blue crayons on my carpet for me to step on.