The Hours

There was an argument about a watch.

Nate had found one that belonged to Nick, and had been carrying it around, loving it. When Nick saw this, he immediately proclaimed himself rightful owner of the watch, and an argument ensued. The court of parental law declared Nick the winner, and Nate was heartbroken.

Until I reminded him that he had birthday money in his wallet, and could afford to purchase his very own watch.

Of course he wanted to do this right away.

It was 8am, I was still in my workout clothes. There was no school, but the day was jam packed with homework assignments, piano classes, karate classes, a trip to the library to return overdue books, and the giant task of making our way to the high school to fill out four double sided sheets of very important issues pertaining to our town (everything I voted for lost, and I'm still ranting and raving about the fact that as 7th graders the boys will be learning science crowded around a single bunsen burner set up in a stairwell, taught by an underpaid teacher, but whatever. At least we won't have to pay an extra $10 in taxes.)

Ahem.

So Nate was trying to convince me to swing by Target. A trip to Target is 20 minutes each way, not to mention the time it takes to convince me to let them spend all their cash on Pokemon Cards. So I said no, we didn't have time.

"What else do we have to do today?" Nate asked. "What is taking up all of the time?"

And so I listed all of the activities we had on our schedule.

His eyes lit up when I mentioned Karate.

"Mom! We can go to Hours when we go to Karate!"

... ?

My mind was a blank. What was he talking about?

"You know, Hours. I'm pretty sure they sell watches there. It's right next to Karate."

It took a moment.

See, the karate place is next to an orthodontist. But in between is a Mental Health Counselor.

Her door is a plain door with nothing on it but in huge letters: HOURS.

Underneath, in much smaller lettering: by appointment.