Sometimes I torture myself, and apparently others, by playing Phil Collins songs on repeat. Torture is probably too strong of a word but one of the boys did ask how many weeks I’d been playing it. I know it hasn’t been that long and there are definitely other songs I’ve rotated. I did something I hardly ever do, I actually don’t think I’ve ever done this. I told him if he didn’t like it he was more than welcome to go somewhere else.

It was one of those, “Well that escalated quickly” situations. There was nothing escalated about it. He looked a little surprised, but I wasn’t mad, and he didn’t seem to be either. In fact, we both then kind of laughed wondering what that was all about. I was on the couch and he was on the chair trying to write a conclusion. I’m not sure what’s going on with school but everyone needs help with their homework lately.

“Mom? You gonna be on there most of the night?”, referring to one of three laptops we share, especially in the evenings when they’re in high demand. Another one texts to communicate, another is waiting for Dad, who came home and told me one of the cooks called and said the debit card wasn’t working. The boys are back upstairs, and there’s nothing more. I tell him no, I won’t be long. All I’ve got to do is write this down.