We are deep into winter now. After two storms in four days we have snowbanks and snowdrifts burying the animal tracks that circle our property. Rabbits, for sure, and then either foxes or coyotes – possibly both. Not great odds for the rabbits, but luckily our cats refuse to go outside when there is snow on the ground. I would love nothing more than to park myself in front of the fire with my knitting and my books and my journal, with my children reading or coloring at my feet. Alas, it is 2025 and I am not a trad wife, and since the kids have been cooped up inside due to the storms they are basically feral at this point. It’s loud and messy and the baby painted himself with yogurt and I am staring at some weird smear on the wall that I desperately hope is a smashed raspberry, wondering whether a baby wipe will remove it or I need something stronger. I am also sick of hearing myself holler “STOP YOU ARE SCRATCHING THE FLOOR!” We spent a ridiculous amount of money for hardwood floors throughout the house and they are actively being destroyed by ride-on toys, roller skates, step stools, and who knows what all else they find to drag from room to room. It’s not how I want them to remember their childhood but, oof. After I’m dead they will joke that “stop scratching the floor” should have been my epitaph. (For all I know it will be.)

The other thing I yell a lot? STOP JUMPING OFF THE WINDOWSILLS.

Exhibit 1: Feral child at work (face is blurred on purpose)