The Witching Hours

"Treasure these times." "These years go by so fast." "Where does the time go?"

I'll tell you where the time goes. A documented 54 extra minutes are added between the hours of 3 and 6pm. That's the time when I feel every single tick of the clock, not to mention the extra minutes I swear are there. Those are the Witching Hours at my house. My angelic three kids turn into little demons torturing me with their demands and commands.

"I HATE HOMEWORK."
"WIPE MY BUTT!"
"AAHHHHGGGGOOOOOO!"

That's all I hear. I usually end up cornered by my little spawns in the kitchen, shielding myself with the refrigerator door. I can fend them off for a few minutes by throwing some Gogurts and an assortment of fruit juices at them. I remain, in the kitchen corner, frightened, hoping that something on the TV will spark their curiosity and they'll leave me. I sit there, counting the never ending ticks of the clock, waiting for my noble knight in shining armor, on his steed (or silver Ford Taurus) to come and rescue me and turn my little beasts back into themselves. All they need is a fresh body full of energy to revitalize them. Once he bursts through the door, peace is restored and the clock continues to move at a normal rate.

So, yes, the years go by so fast. It's the minutes between 3pm and 6pm that drag on and on and on.