I am the octopus

Sometimes I have a strange fantasy. It usually starts in the mornings when BE is asking me for toast, BC needs a napkin, then BE spill her milk, and BC is saying, “mommy, mommy, mommy,” over and over again. So I say, ” I only have two arms, I can only do one thing at a time.” Then BE might say, “momma, don’t you wish you were an octopus? Then you would have eight arms.” Suddenly, I actually do become an octopus, and with my eight arms, I can pour the milk, hand out the napkins, unbuckle the booster seat, all while drinking my mimosa. Unfortunately, my vision is interrupted by screaming, crying, and whining, and I’m left with only two arms again. Until the next morning, anyway.


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