What doesn't work.

Making a conscious effort to choose what I'm doing and piddling away at things a bit a time works, but only if you're in a physical state of functionitude. Functionitude can not be attained if you stay up too late, the baby wakes up, the toddler wakes up, and then you don't go back to sleep.

So.

I'll be the kind of mom who tries really hard to go to bed on time.

This weekend Boy had an event to go to. The Oracle told us to go here, turn there, take a "slight right" there and lo and behold we arrived in the middle of nowhere. The middle of nowhere has its own high school, did you know? On the way there I felt bad because we drove past some Amish who were having trouble with their carriage thingy. It was right in front of their house, so I didn't feel too guilty about not stopping, but still. I knew it was their house because a little girl was holding the reins, the Dad was walking up the road, and every last one of their other kids was running running running to go help. Nothing on this planet is cuter than their youngest daughter running twice as fast as everyone else just to keep up. Boy asked if he would be that cute if he ran, and I said he was that cute when he was little, because he was.

We spent a large part of the ride discussing the Amish. Not that I know much. I've read a book (which I recommend). I buy cheese from some. I've heard stories. I've got a healthy respect for the wonderful communities they have, and for the way they make their living. I tried to explain that to Boy, but he's too stricken with the limitations they've accepted for themselves. They give him the creeps.

Wondering if she should sew some bonnet thingies for her little girls,
ephelba