Busted

Munchkin and Pynchon get along much better when I'm out of the house. Generally, my evening exit line is "Mommy is going to yoga," because although it took many weeks of tantrums to establish this routine, when she hears these words, Munchkin now calmly waves goodbye and tells me to do a princess pose.

On the weekend, though, during the day? If I want a break from the overpassionate attachment, we usually say that Mommy has some errands, and thus will be leaving the house and unavailable for leg-clinging, bum-biting (really), and general smothering.

So I waved goodbye and headed out the front door. Pynchon brought Munchkin upstairs for her nap.

"I want Mommy to put me to bed," she complained.

"Oh, I know you want Mommy, Munchkin," explained her father, "but Mommy went to do some errands and she's not home right now."

Munchkin tilted her head to one side and gave him a look.

"Daddy, is she on the porch?"

BUSTED! That is exactly where I was, with my newspaper and my knitting and grande nonfat latte, enjoying my peace and quiet. How did she figure me out? I'm out of her sight line and don't make a peep!

Daddy faked her out--this time--but, like Chandler Bing, one of these days I'm going to find myself actually boarding a plane to Yemen, just to catch a break. Yowza.