A Dungeon of My Own

I wish I could say that the weekend was splendid, filled with wonderfully educational and relaxing family-filled events, but for the most part it sucked. I came home, or to the mess that used to be my home, on Friday night and that makes me very grumpy. Blame it on religion, which in my case is a renewal version of Judaism and one that encourages the  non-commodity time known as Shabbat. For me, it is a time to decompress and unplug from my weekly life of computers, running around and general unconscious living. So the last thing I want to do is clean my little house and do a hundred loads of laundry. And I am not always very nice about it, so my children and DH found out...

The good news is that despite a rather bleak Saturday, that second day of the weekend (thank goodness for that) - aka SUNDAY - was just lovely. I read the New York Times, drank coffee and gazed out the window at the snow while the kids played. At some point, my oldest DD snuggled up on the love seat next to me and said, "Mama, when you get mad like you did yesterday, I sort of wish I could put you in a dungeon." 

Now this is the same child who used to call me a "bossy mama," which I seriously considered titling my blog, but went for the more sensational of the titles. 

A dungeon. I wouldn't mind a dungeon, as long as it was clean, heated, had wireless and cable capacity and good cellphone coverage. And as long as it was mine. As far as I am concerned, a dungeon is just an 8 year old's version of sending me to my room for an extended time out and that would be just fine with me. A dungeon is a basement crossed with a cave. I'd even take a bat or two, as long as no one else was allowed in it. I've been wanting to move to a house with a basement, but on second thought, I will take a house with my own dungeon. A dungeon of my own. Sounds good enough for me!