I am not safe in my own home.
I can be standing in the kitchen chopping vegetables, or sitting in the dining room, sipping coffee and filling out the tax planner — and suddenly — ambush!
I feel the terrible force of thousands of feathers slam into my thighs. Or, if she can’t get enough momentum on her swing, I watch the pillows pull her backward onto her tushy.
I never know when an attack is coming. Sunday morning, she enlisted her father to distract me with some nonsense about a flying squirrel outside, so she could launch a sneak attack.
She is a master strategist, make no mistake.
I must remain vigilant.