I’m convinced that no matter where you live, when the clock strikes 4pm, children turn into wild animals.
It’s the never-ending witching hour; those fragile post-school, pre-dinner minutes when kids are veracious with hunger and refuse to entertain themselves, inconsolable until a heaping plate is set before their half-mast eyes. Tension mounts as you long to sit on the floor and pull out every.single.art project and homework assignment and recount the days happenings. Who did you play with on the playground? It’s the letter N today? Stories, end-of-the-day snuggles, throwing dinner responsibilities aside to run outside and chase the last hours of daylight call. All the while you stare at the clock, the small hand taunting you with dinner to be made, tables to be cleared of teacher notes and book order fliers, and set.