P,
What you may not know about Mother Superior, whom I used to pity until I realized she harbored the same emotion for me, is two well-kept secrets, one of which I know b/c I too work such long hours outside the home: 1) her desk job is a terrifically useful perch for scheduling her children to do so many things, all you understand, executed and chauffered by others; and 2) she has, perhaps, three sticks of furniture in her home, two of which may be laundry baskets turned upside down for sitting.
I must confess a certain envy of someone who clearly cares so little about what others think and spends her time doing exactly what she believes is important (even if her own childhood was shaped by an incident involving duct tape and a calculus book). My envy, however, has turned to pure hate as MS recently made explicit that I was wasting my own few and precious I.Q. points (and those of my cherubs) by trying to decide upon a dining room set while I could be aiding eldest cherub in researching his science fair project. Now, of course, it’s war. It is, to be sure, a covert operation. Whenever the chance presents, I simply offer her darlings a chance to watch Cops or play dodgeball in our front yard, activities which will never enhance their resumes.
Oh, and I hope you don’t mind, but I have started luring your little ones into an enforced reading period when they come round. They just seem to crave the structure, frankly. Simply reinforces the notion that it really does take a village, doesn’t it P?
Faithfully,
C.
