It's not coal mining.

I know this.

But some days, the days that begin at 6 a.m. with breakfast, lunchboxes and a squabble over who left the milk out overnight and end 15 hours later in a long hot shower that feels so deserved until the telltale draft of cold air that signals that someone, someone small who was tucked into bed twice already, has entered and has some pressing need or request that cannot possibly wait...

On those days, it feels a little bit like coal mining. Only cleaner.

It's not rocket science. I know this.

But some days, the days in which the fourth-grader is stuck on some strange mathematic exercise in which Emily's allowance has been increased by some amount that must be expressed in crayon in both decimal and fractional form and indicated on a bar graph, and the seventh-grader has written a story in which pirates and bandits are defeated by elves in a multi-battle, 15-page epic of sword play and run-on sentences that needs to be edited right this very minute because it is due tomorrow and I just found out ...

On those days, it feels a bit like rocket science. Only without the rockets.

It's not the United Nations. I know this.

But some days, days in which a multi-factional dispute among fourth-grade girls over who gets to play what part in an ambitious backyard production that they just planned this minute and in which they will lose interest before the next episode of Hannah Montana has devolved into tears and door slamming and in which the seventh-grader vehemently denies having eating an entire box of ice cream bars before dinner despite overwhelming evidence amassed by the team of inspectors...

On those days, it feels a bit like the United Nations. Only without the translators.

Photo: dotdecay.wordpress.com