This morning I stood with my children and gave them the order of the day: cartoons, the bank, the library, and household chores in preparation for company. My children already know that television is usually limited to an hour a day, but this morning, as I explained certain expectations, my daughter kept interrupting.
"What is it?" I asked finally.
"Well, if it is 9:42 now, what time will it be in an hour?"
"Sweetheart, if you don't know the answer to that question, then I am ashamed of your public school education."
Moments ago, my daughter weaseled her way into my office. My husband and I stopped her.This sacred space is off limits to children, especially since the day both Chicken Little and Tiny Man picked up an editorial document for a client and decorated it with crayon.
"But I need--," she started.
"There is nothing on my desk you need."
"But I was only--"
"No."
"I just wanted to calculate what time it would be in an hour."
Your tax dollars at work, my friends.
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