Heptadecagon

On a normal day--one in which she goes to school and I go to work or I sit at my computer and edit or write or grade--I accept her help with a smile on my face. Her little fingers are welcome on those days to do what she thinks is necessary: to push my papers into a pile, to add more milk to my coffee, or to bring me a tissue when I sneeze. But on a day when she's been out of school for almost two weeks and so have her siblings and I'm tired of the questions, the comments, the bickering, and the only thing I want to do is to sit and compose a blog post, then no thank you, ma'am, but I do not need her to take out my tea bag because the tea was getting dark, considering I like my tea stronger than she does. Nor do I need her to eat the legs off of my gingerbread man cookie. She knows that I like my small sugary treat with my morning cup of coffee or tea and that tiny man--he was mine. While I'd take those legs back if I could, I think I'll just get myself another cook...

I love the saying, "Not my circus, not my monkeys." It's supposedly translated from Polish and basically means--if you can't figure it out yourself--that whatever you're talking about isn't your problem and there's no need for you to be dragged under the muck that is the problem. But sometimes, it is your circus and they are your monkeys, and let me tell you, my friends, when you realize that you're living that life, there's not much you can do but laugh. And try to shovel out of the deep layers of excrement you have piled around you. Wise words for a Friday, I know.