I was writing. I should have been cutting out paperdolls or giving a puppet show or teaching about the difference between baking soda and baking powder — you know the things good moms do. I was writing, and then I heard something. Actually, I heard nothing and that was the danger. I imagined, when I went to investigate, I was going to find naked dolls hanging from the ceiling in flames or wet toilet paper stuck to the wall framing a colorful mural.
I slowly walked into my son’s room to find my 5-year-old daughter and my 22-month-old son playing chess. I’m not sure who was winning, but my toddler was clapping.