It's been gloomy all day; I wish it would just go ahead and rain.
If I may just be vulgar for a moment, learning to write--or, more accurately, learning to write and being left-handed--is kicking my daughter's ass. I ache for her. I've never watched one of my children struggle so much with something so essential before. We all struggle with things like not being forgetful, and managing our time, and self-discipline--but all the time we're pretty much fooling the authorities in the outside world. M.'s teachers haven't said anything about her writing problems yet, and who knows? maybe she's still ahead of the curve. It's just hard for a heretofore spoiled mother's heart to take, especially in a child for whom the first 5 and a half years of life--social interaction, etc.--was pretty breezy.
My other daughter is practicing the clarinet. Practicing the clarinet, for a beginner, involves making a lot of squeaking sounds. One's first, gut reaction is to holler, "Stop making that sound!" So far I have been able to control myself.
And speaking of things kicking one's posterior, I returned from a three-day weekend in Boston last night. In years past, when returning from such a trip, I would conscientiously devote the next day to doing absolutely nothing. I don't seem to be able to do that anymore, logistically or temperamentally. Not that I'm back on top of things. Oh, no no no no no. But I did go for a run, restock the fridge and pantry, drive various people to various things, and make dinner.