The Magic of Margin
I was brushing my teeth the other morning, lost in thought about the day ahead, when I realized something was off.
My wife was out for a run and neither of my kids had asked me for anything or hurt each other in the last ten minutes.
I stopped brushing and listened, trying to discern where they were or what they were up to, but it was quiet.
Too quiet.
When I found them, they were in their bathroom “making soup” in the sink with toothpaste, floss, soap, toilet paper, leaves, grass, and God knows what else. When I appeared in the doorway, I startled them so badly my son dropped my wife’s hairbrush (It’s a ladle, dad!) into the sink and my daughter slipped off a stool and landed on the floor on top of a pile of picture books (they were using them as cookbooks).
They both froze and stared at me, certain they were in deep trouble.
And truthfully, my reaction would normally not have been great.
Most mornings I am barely functioning. Despite promises to the contrary each night, in the morning I typically hit snooze a few times before rushing through a haphazard routine that ends with me begging the kids to hurry up and get in the car. Often this involves a fair amount of yelling and screaming by all parties.
