I can't tell you how depressing it is to get onto Goodreads and see my current status for the year: 7 books behind schedule. I thought I was setting a reasonable, attainable goal when I said I'd read 60 books this year, but it looks like I'm going to have to step it up a bit. Luckily, I'm almost done with four books, so that should help my numbers a bit.
Speaking of depressing: when someone asks if you were due yesterday and you have to tell them you're not due for six more weeks, that's depressing.
Bradley hardly ate anything for dinner tonight (in spite of lots of coaxing from us and in spite of not having a big afternoon snack). By bedtime, he was pleading and begging for a little snack. I think he orchestrates such things on purpose so he'll have an excuse to stay up a little longer. It didn't work tonight though.
I forgot how difficult it is to get my kids to bed on time when the weather is gorgeous. It seems like a crime to make them come inside. And for what? Just so they won't be little monsters in the morning? Big deal.
I'm a little worried our laundry situation might become perilous after the baby is born. Already it seems like it multiplies overnight; and do you know how much extra laundry a baby creates? We might be drowning soon is all I'm saying.
The boys all got a book for Easter. So far, Randy Riley's Really Big Hit is winning the popularity contest. Baseball, robots, and fireballs. What more could three little boys ask for in a story?
I'm teaching Maxwell's preschool group tomorrow. We're going to be learning about recycling. It's made me aware of how bad I am at recycling little things (like yogurt containers).
It's Charlotte Brontë's birthday today. I guess I should have saved my Jane Eyre review.