Monday. 5:52 p.m.
A loving family sits down to a dinner of fajitas. The kids, who have been outside frolicking in the season’s first snowfall, are changed out of their wet clothes and into their PJs. People are filling their plates and chatting.
The Mother: OH. CRAP.
Monday. 6:01 p.m.
The father rushes out the door, still chewing a bite of dinner, with the middle daughter, thrown into a uniform pulled from the laundry bin and a button-up shirt with misaligned buttons. They’ll barely make Girl Guides carpool.
I’ll leave the blank space as an exercise for the reader.