It started as an ordinary Saturday morning—the kind where the sun peeks through the blinds just enough to remind you that sleeping in is wishful thinking. Maria had only just poured herself a cup of coffee when she heard the first battle cry.
“Mom! MOM!” her six-year-old, Lila, barreled into the kitchen waving a crayon masterpiece that absolutely required immediate admiration. Maria smiled, set down her mug, and knelt to inspect the swirling neon creation. She barely had time to say, “Wow, that’s beautiful—” before the second attack arrived.
Her eight-year-old son, Jonah, skidded around the corner with the frantic urgency of someone announcing a national emergency. “Mom, I need you! It’s an emergency! Like, a real one!”
Maria stood, one hand still holding the crayon drawing, the other reaching for her coffee that was now lukewarm and clearly doomed. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“My Lego tower won’t stay up!” he declared, panting like he’d run a marathon. “You’re the ONLY one who can fix it.”
And there it was: the double attack. Two kids, two crises, one mom.
Before she could respond, both children began speaking at once—Lila insisting her art needed framing this very minute, and Jonah swearing the Lego tower would collapse into oblivion if she didn’t follow him right now. Maria took a breath, the kind seasoned parents learn to take before the chaos fully kicks in.
“Okay,” she said, voice saint-like. “One at a time.”
But “one at a time” was a foreign concept in the territory these small humans ruled. They pressed in from both sides, tugging her sleeves, grabbing her hands, performing what could only be described as a coordinated attention ambush.
The dog joined in, convinced he too required urgent affection. Even the cat wandered through with a judgmental glare that suggested she should be ashamed for not petting him instead.
Maria laughed—the kind of laugh that comes from knowing resistance is futile. She lifted Lila with one arm, threw her other arm around Jonah, and shuffled toward the living room surrounded by her tiny, determined entourage.
Her coffee was cold, her to-do list untouched, and her personal space nonexistent. But as they all squeezed around her—Lila chattering about colors, Jonah explaining engineering disasters—Maria realized something.
Being mobbed for attention might be exhausting.
But it was also one of her favorite things.
