Jeebus, Help me!

My husband is in New York. This means that I am a single parent. This means, more specifically, that I am in charge of dinner, packing snack, getting homework done and back in the folder, making sure library book is being returned on library day, medications ( me and her), getting us both showered and dressed and out the door, with the hope that I am going to get to work on time.

Let's take a look at how I have done so far:
Dinner yesterday

I arrive home at 5:15 and walk over to the neighbor's to pick Em up. We walk home. I am thankful that the man my husband called to look at the furnace seems to have fixed it, as there is now heat in the house.
Em asks "Can I have dessert?"
Me: "Talk to me after dinner"

Me ( a few minutes later) "Hey, you want me to bake this chicken pot pie?"

** Don't get impressed - we now buy a weeks worth of meals from a personal chef and put them in our freezer. Best damn money we ever spent.**

Em: "No, I want salami." Pause "Can I have salami?"
Me: "How about some meatloaf? and potatoes?"
Em: "How about some salami......and cheese."

I am now at the very limit of my motherly meal offerings. My temper is beginning to wane.

Me: "Well how about some salami and potatoes and a vegetable?"
Em: "How about salami and corn?"
SOLD. I fix my daughter a plate of salami and corn.
Em: "Can I have dessert when I am done?"
Me: "I don't know yet - talk to me later."

I eat the rest of the meatloaf.

We get homework done, and she asks to watch TV. It is before 7 p.m. so, OK, you can watch a little tv.

With my husband out of the house, my daughter attempts to crawl into my colon. I can't shake her. She stands outside of the bathroom as I pee. I walk to the kitchen to get some water, I turn , she's standing right there. I walk to the living room to to turn off a light, she shadows me.

Me: "Stop following me!"
Em: Shooting me a very baleful look indeed, walks back to the bedroom.

I get to the bedroom. I turn on the computer.
Em: "Can I have desert? Mama? Can I ? Can I have dessert Mama?"

I don't know what child's terrorist training camp she picked up this little tactic from, but it grates on me terribly. She repeats my name over and over, asking the same questions. I could rent her to the military. The Guantanemo guys have nothing on my kid.

Me: "Emily, if you ask me one more time - that's it. You get nothing."
Em: Silence
Six minutes pass. Yes, I counted. Six damn minutes.

Em: "Mama, I am not asking you the thing. But can I Mama?"

I am at the very edge of my patience. Like the "about to flip out" edge. I turn, and look at her. She is carefully not looking at me.

Me: "I told you, you asked again. No dessert. Now please - leave me alone. Mama is begging you."

The crying starts. No, let me re-phrase - the banshee wailing starts. I am now forced to say:
"If you don't stop that noise, you are going to bed AND I won't let you be Addy in the American Girl Fashion show"

Ooooooooo. That is an effective threat. The noise stops immediately.

She settles, we read. I get her ready for bed. Ahhhh, blessed aloneness is coming. I can taste it.

Me: "good night honey - you can come in my bed when you wake up"
Em: "Ok, night Mama. Oh, and Mama? Can I have dessert tomorrow?"