I always know that I'm in trouble . . .

when I hear an unusually sweet, and ridiculously innocent, voice calling to me, saying:
"Mommmmmyyy . . .  How much do you love me?" 
It's at times like that when I quickly glance around, hoping that it's just an audio hallucination; and when I realise that it's not, I have to quickly size up the odds of making a smooth and successful escape.  Unfortunately, in a house the size of mine, that's rarely a feasible option.  Instead, I'm usually obligated to respond.  Responding isn't the problem, it's what comes next. 
Inevitably, it's one of my children wanting . . . something.  Most likely, a ride somewhere, or permission to do, or go somewhere that I may have to veto, which will eventually lead to some sort of elaborate, drawn out, debate.

In short, a situation that's going to exact more of my time.  And that - time - seems to be the one thing that is always in short supply for me.  (Well . . . that, and money.)  As summer wears on, I'm quickly edging towards panic mode.  I am now looking at a mere 103 days before Halloween and I'm no where near where I should be in terms of completed haunt props.  Jenn keeps reminding me that I've accomplished so much more this year than last year.  Which is true, but last year, I wasn't changing themes.  I was just updating an old one.  I keep telling myself:
'Only one more month to go, then I'll have eight blessed hours a day to get things done.'  Of course, by then,  the Halloween countdown will be at  73 days !  I don't even want to think about what a basket case I'll be by then !!!!