My youngest child just turned 7.  She has strong opinions about fashion and has developed a withering gaze that she can level at you when you say something she finds tiresome.  She likes math.  She can do jigsaw puzzles at lightning speed.  To her parents’ chagrin, she is discovering the joys of playground gossip. 

My oldest child recently turned 9.  He also likes math.  He plays the cello, but has to be nagged to practice.  He is on a swim team.  He is developing a bit of attitude, but is remorseful when reprimanded.  He has a terrific group of friends.  He rips the knees of pants at an alarming pace.  He just got a loft bed in his room and loves it.  His dad and I can’t lie with him at night to read with him.

We’re having a lot of capital W- Weather here in the Mid-Atlantic this winter.  I love dramatic weather events.  Even more than the actual weather events themselves, I love the anticipation of said weather events.  I am entirely addicted to the weather blogs – complete with wacky amateur meterologist characters freaking out about jet streams and precipitation quotients. 

I’ve become frustrated by the way my house looks.  I’m on a bit of a mental hamster wheel trying to figure out how I want it to look and what I’d (who’s kidding who, my husband has a) a much more refined aesthetic sense than I have and b) the skills to carry the work out) do to get it to look that way.

When nobody is looking, I’ve been throwing all manner of bits and pieces away, Happy Meal toys, playing cards flying solo, paper clips, unsharpened pencils, coffee mugs I don’t like, grubby looking dish towels.  The other day I filled a trashbag while standing in front of the kitchen junk drawer(s) and my desk. 

I’m toying with the idea of studying Buddhism.  I think there’s something oxymoronic about that statement. 

Possibly just moronic.