You can't live without them and you can't get away from them.

Last night I eased myself away from Emmy Velcro White who was sprawled out on the floor watching Super Why. I got about 6 feet away from her, turned on the laptop and got online wanting to look at some of the Golden Globes gossip/fashion stuff on some of my favorite gossip sites.

Here comes Thomas, 12.

"I need to use the computer, whatchya doing?"

And he makes himself comfy on the floor beside me. I do not like people hovering over me when I am online, especially when I'm looking at horribly inappropriate gossip sites.

"Ummm, you'll have to wait your turn - go do something else. Don't hover!" I told him.

So, of course, he goes over to awaken/torture Emmy from her Super Why trance. Of course he does.

At this point, the site has just now loaded and I'm just getting into some good stuff about Brangelina, Cameron and Diddy and who wore the worst dress.

And the crying starts. And the shrieking.

Then she starts kicking.

And then the, "Mom, she's kicking me!" starts. 

I sigh.

I close the computer.

As I turn to address the situation, I notice the smell of coffee coming from the kitchen.

I decide to let them fight it out themselves.

Ken is sitting at the kitchen table, with a delicious smelling cup of coffee watching the news. 

I decide to trade in some gossip searching from some real news.

"I can't even get away from them for TWO MINUTES to look at some Golden Globe gossip sites," I complain to my husband as I squeeze by him to fix my cup of coffee. "They won't leave me alone!"

"Don't come in here, if they're going to follow you," he warns.

But too late.

"I hope you're going to spank her," Thomas wails, flopping into a chair at the table. "She just kicked me in the head."

I refrain from asking why his head was in kicking distance of her feet, as I sit down with my coffee.

I also refrain from saying, "Go way."

And in comes our little black-belt midget, coming straight for my lap, of course.

We found ourselves all back at the kitchen table, where we'd just cleaned up from dinner.

And there, as I weakly smiled at Ken's annoyed look, made sure Emmy wasn't in kicking distance of Thomas and sipped my sweet coffee, I had a Thanksgiving Day moment. You know, when you look around the table at all your family, and have an overwhelming feeling of thankfulness – that kind of moment.

It was a brief moment, as these moments are prone to be, but just long enough to take the edge off my annoyance and anger at ALWAYS being needed or interrupted or whined at or sassed at or clung to. Sometimes, that's all you need, a moment.

And it goes a long way.