EARLY SATURDAY MORN-ing. Too early. Only 5:45 a.m. and my boys, Collin, four, and Connor, two, were already going full steam. They whizzed by me as I groped my way toward the coffeemaker.
Crash! Waah!
I whirled around to find Connor on his back, wailing, a box of cereal bars scattered on the floor around him. Before I could say anything, he popped up and chased our dog, Eppie, around the kitchen.
āThis milk tastes funny, Mommy.ā Collin thrust a sippy cup into my hands.
Milk? Weād been out of milk for a couple of days. āWhere did you get that?ā I demanded, snatching the cup away.
āUnder the couch,ā Collin said. The living room was strewn with toys and laundry waiting to be folded. Who knew how long agoā¦