“Can I have just two more minutes?”

Anyone who’s been anywhere fun with Josh and I plus kids has heard this from Phil at the end, when it’s time to pack up and go home.

And when those two minutes are up, we get asked for another two minutes.

I have to tell you. I’m having a little bit of a problem with Phil heading to preschool this week. This kid’s the whole reason I’m a work at home mom. He’s been right here at my side in the office literally since day one of my self employment.

And now we’re standing on the precipice of the first day of school. It feels like I’ve been waiting for this day for what feels like forever.

Almost five years ago, when my full time art job for an office in downtown Los Angeles threatened my telecommuter status, I leapt headlong into self employment so I could continue to work at home with Phil. The fact that our whole family has made this design office flourish is a massive victory in itself.

Because with all the sweet moments that come with sharing your office with your children…

The reality is your nice big corner desk with wide open spaces is more for the kids. It’s covered with Lego jets, crayons, markers, other craft supplies, safety scissors, tape, and a jumble of work papers that looks like a muhmuh desperately trying to stay organized.

You have to schedule client calls carefully as a work at home mom, strategically during naps or tv time, to maintain some semblance of professionalism on the phone.

You have to be ready for snack breaks, diaper changes, and robot attacks by little boys in slightly terrifying homemade costumes at literally any moment.

Working from home and sharing your office with two littles is work.

But all of a sudden, I’m having a really hard time with the idea of our Vice President of Productivity leaving the office today. How is it suddenly this kid’s last regular work day in the office?

It feels like just three seconds ago that I was in my little 10 by 10 office in Long Beach with a newborn sleeping in his playpen next to me. There was zero room in that office. When he’d wake up, I’d shimmy Phil’s Pack and Play out of the room, and then finagle the baby swing in so he could hang out there for a few minutes. When he was done with the swing, I’d wrestle that out of the room and put up the baby gate so he could play on the floor for a bit.

A year and a half ago, I was on the phone with the Effingham County Board of Education telling them “You don’t understand, Phil needs to start preschool in fall 2014 not 2015. I know he misses the cutoff by thirteen days. You guys have got to make an exception. He’s been writing his own name since he was two years old. He can explain how a hot air balloon works. Kid is ridiculously smart. He needs school, like, yesterday.”

And now we’re here, at Phil’s last day in the office, and I am having a really hard time with it. This Thursday, I won’t have someone asking me every ten minutes if he can borrow my sticky tape.

Or put on another episode of Inspector Gadget.

Or if I’ll help him pry apart two stubborn Legos.

Or if I can open the Play-Doh canisters. And get them out of the buckets. And close them back up again three minutes later because it’s time to do something else.

I’m going to miss having my little boy Phil in the office every single day. So I have to ask…

Can I have just two more minutes? Please?