A woman with seven rambunctious children boarded a
Los Angeles bus and sat in the seat behind me. Her hair
was a mess and the gaunt look on her face revealed a state
of utter exhaustion. As she stumbled past me with her
wiggling tribe, I asked, "Do all these children belong to
you, or is this some kind of picnic!"
She looked at me through sunken eyes and said, "They're
all mine, and believe me, it's no picnic!"
I smiled to myself, understanding fully what she meant.
Small children have an uncanny ability to unravel an adult
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