This is what I like to call "twilight time." Not because it's actually twilight or because of books about teenaged vampires written by a nice midwestern Mormon lady that I don't ever plan on reading. I call it "twilight time" because it's the small pocket of time in between work and making dinner during which I feel as if I can do what I please. Because I can.
So I'm blogging.
Take that dinner.
Dinner has become complicated by my husband's restrictive diet and my daughter's relentless specificity. They have needs and desires that are diametrically opposed. It's becoming a make two meals event every dinner hour and quite frankly, I'm finding it exhausting. I've run out of things we can all eat together and the challenge of figuring out which side to choose so I don't have to make three meals has become daunting.
I'm hiding up here in the studio in the hope that the food will arrange itself into three pleasing plates that make everyone around here happy.
I'm envisioning it as I type. It's like a scene from Fantasia, except without Mickey Mouse. Oh what fun! I can't wait to see what awaits for me on the table!
...I hear my husband lurking at the bottom of the stairs...apparently my creative visualization isn't working and he's wondering where dinner is.
Damn it all to hell.
Twilight time has passed and I must go rattle some pans.