I'm on the phone with a good friend this evening, trying to fit a few minutes of catch up in between dinner, bath and bedtime, when I am spotted by my four-year old, the one who arrived on the planet equipped with a GPS radar on my whereabouts, not unlike her one year old brother.
I continue to talk while she too, continues to talk - to me.
I ask for a few minutes to finish my conversation.
Just a couple minutes, Reese. Go hang out with Dad and brother who are playing "Coo Coo" (an entirely amusing decidedly Murray version of Hide and Go Seek that is too complicated/embarrassing to go into here.)
Not gonna happen.
"Honey, I could really use some privacy."
Reese, looking almost convinced, then righteous: "Then Mom, you should go in the bathroom."
Yes, I should. In fact, should you call me in the future, please direct your calls to my private line. Make that my bathroom line.
After all, if I can't go to the bathroom in peace, perhaps at least I can make a few phone calls.