I have dinner to make, and I’m not thrilled about it.

TGIF, of course, but it’s been a long day: two therapy appointments for our older son, a visit to Santa for him and the baby (and all the bribery and maneuverings required to make that annual picture happen), a trip to the playground (and all the bribery and maneuverings required to get them home). My husband takes the kids downstairs to play so I can throw dinner together, my back aching over the kitchen counter and my inner monologue verging on martyrdom. You know–the usual.

I waver between turning on Christmas music and the news, then settle on the news.

I hear a familiar voice in an unfamiliar time slot. I glance at the clock. I turn back to the TV. That’s when this one begins.

Read the rest over at The Wheelhouse Review.