I slammed the closet door in my bedroom nice and hard. It was a release of pent-up energy. That closet door has a knack for coming off its track when slammed the way I had just done. But it didn’t matter this time if it got off track, because tomorrow the whole house would be reduced to a pile of kindling in the front yard.
Let me tell you the cause of all this: my mother. My mother always worked part-time in an office. When we were little we went to a babysitter or playgroup. She juggled our days off and sometimes took us to work with her when we were sick. It worked out fine. Then three weeks ago she decided that enough was enough. She wanted to stay home with my little brother and be an at-home mom.
My father: “We can’t afford for you to quit your job.” My mother: “But I can’t stand sending him to a babysitter.” My father: “But you did it with all the kids and they turned out fine.” My mother: “You just don’t understand!” My father: (sigh) “Let’s see what we can do.”
So they decided to sell the house. Sort of.
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