Children come in order to turn our world upside down and let us rearrange it back again.
They throw the pieces of our delicate existence into complete madness and then, after we explode, and while they, say, take a nap, we pick up the pieces and wonder, where did that come from?
Why does it have to be so difficult to put the pajamas on?
Or is it?
Or is it just that I am thinking of other things, like proceeding with my coursework or finally checking the lyrics of that cool song.
I screamed at my 2 1/2 year old because I was helpless at her giggly but quite real kicking me in my pathetic attempts to put her pajamas on.
I screamed and now I regret it.
My throat is scratched. She retreated, finally, or was it time for bed.
How can happiness and anger be so close to each other?
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