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"I'm leaving," I announced.

"I want to go with you," my four-year-old said. I shook my head. He clutched my leg.

"Where are you going?" the six-year-old asked. I told him.

"No, really," he said in a peeved tone, "Where are you going?" His stare conveyed a perceived lack of authenticity. He's going to make a fine boss some day, ferreting out feigning employees from the sincere.

"I'm going to the spa," I repeated.

The four-year-old clutched my leg even tighter. "Spooky," he pronounced my mission.

The spa was tranquil. The music was soft. The paraffin mask was pleasant warmly. The masseuse tugged gently on my shoulders to work out the kinks. His pulls did not include the yell, "Go, yeehaw."

I left with my limbs loose and my mind free.

Travel time included, I was gone less than three hours. The house I returned home to was not the one I had left. My husband looked sheepish. "You should have seen it 15 minutes before you got here," he said.

Serenity is short-lived.

Children, I have discovered, have only one problem. They were born with an internal homing device, location you. I wake to find a face perilously close. "Why were your eyes closed?" the puzzled soul asks, concern lining a face that sleep should. Or there's the issue of the bathroom. An inquiring mind will yell through the door, "What are you doing? Can I come in?"

They say karma is the reaping in this life of what was sowed in a former life. There's a much less philosophical explanation. History repeats itself. Karma is having been on both sides of the bathroom door.

Parents, they say, should model healthy behavior for their children. But the act of doing almost anything with your children is unhealthy. Whoever said that everyone is a critic was referring to kids. "Mommy, you're not doing it like her," I'm told, a child pointing to the woman planking effortlessly on the screen. Of course that woman can smile while doing Pilates - her children aren't home.

Or there's the issue of reading: "You were reading that book yesterday. Do you read slow?"

But no parental act is subject to more child commentary than a parent trying to consume her daily bread. Inmates guard their food less than parents do. It is a universally accepted truth that when mom or dad attempts to move morsel to mouth, they will be hounded.

"Ohh, that looks good."

"Can I have a bite?"

"Why not?"

" But I finished mine. Just ONE bite. PLEEE-AASE."

Almost anything you say to a child on the topic of your food makes you sound unreasonable and small.

"No."

"No."

"No! You cannot smell my food."

"Because it's mine!"

The days are long, but the years are short. Life gets broken into bite-sized pieces. The mouthfuls are small, but the crumbs are sweet.

- Jessica Dacharux Graham

Jessica Graham is a lawyer, a writer and a legal storyteller. Her favorite stories are the ones she tells about her family. She writes many of those stories at In Pursuit of Loud.