Yesterday, a friend called looking for some information about a job search they’ve been forced to undertake. When I picked up, she nicely asked if it was a good time.
I looked away from the swivel aerator I was installing on our new kitchen faucet to peer down the hall to the contractors who were debating removing our toilet to paint behind it as well as pondering the whereabouts of the missing tiles.
I was about to tell them that they were talking too loud on their cell phones and they might wake 3B, who was napping in the next room when our designer walked in, startling Mama, who I hadn’t told about her visit.
The designer started peppering Mama with questions about the bathroom, the kitchen, our trip, and so forth as I explained to my friend that I wasn’t planning on working from home, but that I had to because 3B couldn’t go to school, due to his draining nose, which has caused him to scratch his upper lip until it became one giant sore, and because I had to vote, which took two hours, and because Mama had a conference call, during which I had to be on daddy duty, and because that was followed immediately by a conference call I had to be on, during which Mama was on mommy duty.
As I explained this, I finished making lunch for Mama and myself and stepped out onto the balcony to take the call.
My friend said, “So, is this a good time?”
“Depends on what you mean by ‘good.'”