I've often said I'm God's sitcom. There's something about me, I'm just set up for humor. Maybe it's my lack of coordination, maybe it's that I set to do things I'm not all that good at, maybe it's just God created me to have foibles, I don't know.
It's 10:15 and I'm in my office, closing shop for the day and my teenage son says, "Psst, Mom!"
"Go to bed!" I snap.
"Mom, no I need your help."
"What?"
"Can you get me some underwear?"
"Can't you get your own?"
"I'm naked."
"Of course, you are." So I get up, schlep into his room, grab some undies and he does battle with the dog -- who has stolen the clean underwear while yahoo is in the shower. There are moments in life, like late at night, when your teenage son is battling a yorkie-pom naked, trying to out-think the dog with chew toys, that maybe I wasn't cut out for this parenting thing.
