12:28 p.m.  Start cleaning kitchen.

12:29 p.m. Girlfriend screams for the “blue brush,” i.e. the thing we scrape the ice off our windshield with.  I don’t know where it is.  I look for it anyway.  Can’t find it.  Tell her I can’t find it, don’t know where it is, must cease caring now.  She is not appeased.  I go back to work.

12:34 p.m.  Think I hear sounds of mischief emanating from upstairs.  Turn down my iPod to get confirmation.  None such.  Turn iPod back up and continue working.

12:43 p.m. Girlfriend asks for help fixing her car track.  I fix the car track.  Go back to work.

12:48 p.m. Elvis needs help getting the big box of corn dogs out of the freezer in the garage.  I ask Mister Bubby if he’d also like a corn dog for lunch.  No response.  I go back to work while Elvis makes himself a corn dog.

12:48 p.m. Elvis needs help with the corn dog.  I help him.  I go back to work.

12:53 p.m.  I am temporarily stymied by my discovery of a mysterious plastic cap.  I can’t tell what it’s supposed to go to, or if it is disposable.  It says very clearly on the cap “Lift Off Replace.”  What does that even mean?  Can I throw it away?  Will I regret that later?

12:55 p.m.  Girlfriend asks for a corn dog.  I make her corn dog.  I go back to work.

12:56 p.m. Girlfriend screams for mustard.  I look for the mustard.

12:57 p.m. Elvis screams, “Stick is broken!  Stick is broken!  Mommy, come take a look!”  I say I’ll look as soon as I get the mustard for Girlfriend.

12:58 p.m.  I have misapplied the mustard to Girlfriend’s plate.  She is so upset that she can’t properly explain how I can rectify the situation.  I have Mustard FAIL, and Elvis is still screaming for me to look at the broken stick.  I finally get a mustard-ketchup combination that Girlfriend can live with, then go upstairs with Elvis to see that he has drawn a picture of a corn dog with a broken stick.  I make appropriate comments and go back downstairs to continue working in the kitchen.

1:02 p.m.  Elvis screams.  I ignore him.

1:04 p.m.  Elvis is downstairs screaming, “Draw pickle!”  I am in the middle of sorting various papers and debris on the phone desk and can’t give him my full attention.

1:06 p.m.  Elvis is still screaming, “Draw pickle!”  I am still sorting and say I’ll be there in a minute, just as soon as I finish this one thing, which technically isn’t one thing but many things rolled into one, but I keep thinking it won’t take longer than ten seconds if I can just hear myself think for that long.

1:08 p.m.  Elvis is still screaming, “Draw pickle!”  I find a copy of a “Tens Go Fish” math game that Mister Bubby’s teacher sent home for us to play together.  The pieces haven’t been cut out yet.  I feel guilty because I never played Tens Go Fish with him even though MB doesn’t need any help with his Tens and the likelihood of him being interested in Tens Go Fish is absolutely nil.  I wonder why I can’t shake the guilt.  I finally give in to Elvis’s screaming and go upstairs to see that he has drawn a picture of a pickle–a very fine picture of a pickle.  I make appropriate comments and go back downstairs.

1:10 p.m.  Elvis screams, “I erased it!”

1:11 p.m.  I realize that I’ve finished cleaning the kitchen, but there is still this pile of crap I don’t know what to do with yet.  I realize that I feel guilty about the Tens Go Fish because it is printed on such high-quality card stock and it seems a shame to just recycle it without putting it to some good use.  I think the back side is theoretically still usable, but I can’t think of anything I could use it for in the next five seconds before I give up and recycle it.  But I can’t recycle it.  Even though it’s the teacher who started killing the trees, not me, I can’t shake the guilt.

1:12 p.m.  Mister Bubby asks, “Are the corn dogs almost ready?”

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