But no -- there are my four children -- in one room. The toddler is playing quietly on the floor with a toy. The 8 year old is quietly doing her homework (and not screaming in frustration!), the 12 year old is typing up her 6th grade Egypt project a week early (God bless that child) and my teenage son is eating a snack AT THE SAME TABLE and not poking, grabbing, or otherwise harassing the closest sibling.
I close my eyes. I open them again, and yes, it is really happening: this moment of harmony, this priceless slice of heaven, it is here.... now... in my home - right in front of me!
I look for the TV cameras, I look for David Cassidy, I check my reflection in the hood of the stove: have I become Shirley Partridge?
And just before I break into song, just before I belt out "I Think I Love You!" to my four partridges, the moment is over... as fast as it came. The toddler throws the toy car, hitting the computer keyboard which closes the 12 year old's document without saving; she's crying which turns the teenager to her - he's yelling that she's a big baby and starts grabbing her other papers, knocking over the 8 year old's juice onto her homework... setting her off.
I sigh. I never liked those damn happy Partridges anyway.
I join in the screaming, just for the fun of it all.