When it's bedtime, I turn out the lights in my kid's room, then sit and try to do my 20 minutes of meditation while she passes out. That inevitably means a string of interruptions as she fucks around, delaying sleep as long as possible. Here was tonight's (very typical) repertoire.
  1. "Dad? Is Bizarro Superman's enemy?"
    Me: (Consider the longer explanation - "No, Bizarro's just confused and messes things up sometimes, then Superman has to clean up after him"; decide against it and simply whisper) "No." (Try to return to meditating)
  2. "Dad, my pillow's hot."
    Me: (Silently get up, turn her pillow over for her, sit back down. Try to return to meditating)
  3. "Dad, I'm scared."
    Me: (Whisper) "I'm right here." (Wait to see if she says anything else)
  4. (Several minutes of silence)
    Me: (Relieved, return to meditating)
  5. "But is he SORT of his enemy?"
    Me: (Knowing that she's right - he is - but unwilling to get into it; feel a little guilty for leaving her with the ambiguity; feel kind of proud that she sees through my bullshit; whisper) "No."