My kids woke up the other day in “a mood”, by which I mean they were hyperactive beyond description. My youngest son is five and still has occasional issues dressing himself, so in order to ensure that we get out the door before the current presidential administration leaves office, I help him get dressed. But when he’s in “a mood”, it’s like trying to dress a hummingbird on fucking speed. Flit! Flit! Flit! He’s all over the room, and the only way that I can get him to settle down is to offer him sugar-water from a plastic red flower. Continue reading