I felt as though I cheated Chloe out of her bedtime routine.

 
I had to wrap things up early so I could call the Orthodontist about adding more glue to Hanna’s bite (yep, that’s apparently a thing), find a stone mason to come and fix something, an Arborist to discuss the slow, painful death of two terminally ill trees in our yard, donate to three charity walks and Chloe wanted me to make up song lyrics so she could “rock my new dance moves!” as I sang.

 
But I was preoccupied and she knew it and she kept asking why all of my songs had to do with trees that needed a deep, root fertilizing and fixing the pillars at the front of our house.

 
I suggested a real dancer could rock her moves to lyrics of any kind regardless of content but she wasn’t buying it and her dance moves were a reflection of the slow progression of a kid having a dance party in her room to her modern-dance interpretation of two, sickly trees.

 
When she finally melted into the soil (her carpet) she said, “Mom, I know you’re busy but can I just talk to you for a couple while?”

 
Time stands still when you’re dealing in increments of a “couple while.”