The year is 2030. I pull up on my driveway as the sun takes one last glance at the world it has granted light all day, with a promise to be back tomorrow. Did I mention it is a beautiful black car? My children, in a bout of euphoria over their mother’s arrival, scurry out to jump into my arms, very nearly toppling us all over. Of course I scold that I am not their father and cannot roughhouse with them, an utterance that will be heeded by none, as their curious little noses will already be buried in the bags in the car, in search of goodies.
We get into the house and I begin to whip up a meal after settling in (‘whip up’ because I have since rid myself of all the awkward clumsiness I had in the kitchen in my early twenties, and making a pumpkin pie risotto is about as challenging as batting an eyelid), as my children stumble over each other in a competition to prove to me who had the most interesting day at school insert motherly chuckle here. And what sort of mother would I be if, after hearing about how Shanice from Yellow Class is having a big birthday party next week, I didn’t dismiss them to their homework promptly? We mothers must early plant the seeds of intellectual excellence on the virgin (but fertile, because they will inherit their brains from us) land that is their minds. [Read more…]