The girl is screeching upstairs because she waaaaaants her biiiiiiiinky.
This week's 87th load of laundry is making its way through the rounds.
I have been worried over the anxiety and lack of self-esteem of one boy.
I have been rescued by the other boy's enthusiasm, love, and ability to fill in gaps.
Tomorrow a dozen first graders are coming over for a mad scientist party.
I'd like to sit here in the basement for a few days, finish Half Broke Horses, and polish off a couple personal essays for submission.
When we were newly married we lived near a family with 3 young kids. The dad was deployed, and I was talking with the mom once. I asked her what she did during the day. I had a genuine curiosity about what filled up her days. She looked at me with a worn smile and told me about their routine. My young, barely-married, college-going, clean-freak self couldn't imagine having a life revolving around the little lives of children.
I'm sorry to that mom. I don't know if she was offended by my question, but I'm sorry anyway.
I get it now, I say with a worn smile.