I’m sitting on our red velour couch, reading a novel aloud to my daughters. Susanna’s shoulder is nestled underneath my arm and I can feel Belén’s lanky legs touching me along the length of my own. I don’t read books to my daughters (Stan is our designated reader) or cuddle with them as much as I used to, so it feels nice to be here, body next to body, feeling their rib cages pressing into mine. Just when I’m about to turn the page, the phone rings. As soon as I answer it I wish I hadn’t. It’s a representative from the Saskatchewan Party who wants to discuss our up-coming election. I respond to a few preliminary questions and get off the phone as quickly as I can.
“Who was it?” Susanna asks while I flop between them again, nudging their hips to get as comfortable as before.
“Oh, just some politicians who wanted to talk about the provincial election.” I scan the page to see where I left off when I add, “Saskatchewan is going to vote for a premier. You know, like a leader. The big boss of the province.”
I take a breath and start reading when Susanna interrupts me.
“Do they want you?” she asks seriously. “Do they think you should be premier?”
I throw back my head and laugh. Loudly. Even though the idea is preposterous, I am happy for her confidence. I would relish it for a moment longer but Belén is impatient. Bouncing her legs, she says, “Okay, let’s read,” for the third time. I get back to work, back to my powerful position of staggering influence, other wise known as mother.