Your Mother Does Work Here

She might not work here, but she does work here (if Stella Commute is your mother, that is). It's been a nice summer of being at home whilst my older daughter is also at home -- I know roughly where she is, I can keep an eye on her in the backyard swimming pool and whatnot.

But between the hours of 8 am and 6 pm east coast time, you really, truly can't come in my office. If I'm on the phone, you can't come in my office. If I'm looking quizzically at the computer, you can't come in my office. If you peek in the window and I wave you away vigorously you can't come in my office. If you barge in without looking through the window, you can't come in my office.

If you can come in my office, I'm not in my office. I'm in the kitchen taking a break, popping some corn, getting another glass of water, making some cinnamon toast. You can talk to me then. Otherwise, please act like I'm invisible. Shun me like someone being shunned from the village. I'm not there.

I'm at work.