Pouring Salt On Those Wounds

Writing has become a monumentally difficult task. Beyond the usual distractions of children who want food, clothing, and an education, comes the incessant push for complete and undivided attention at any moment of any day that they see me even glancing at the computer, let alone sitting in front it. My children have the ability to kill any creative thought long before I have the chance to explore it on the small screen. What was the Grinch’s complaint?

“Oh, the noise! Oh, the noise! Noise! Noise! Noise!

That's one thing he hated! The NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! NOISE!”

I sat down this morning to write and found Ms. Chaos standing next to me with an empty black pepper tin from the play kitchen. She noticed the dry, red, cracked skin on my hands, a problem I’ve fought with for years. It is worse when I use a lot of chalk, dry wall, or spend time around the campfire. Captain Chaos became Dr. Chaos as she tried to heal my wounds by pouring on them imaginary salt, pepper, and cumin. At the risk of getting myself in trouble with the Boss, I’m wondering where such a young lady developed the idea that pouring salt in an open wound is a good idea, and the only answer that I can come up with is that it must be a girl thing.