Sometimes

Sometimes, apparently, you're just so tired it kind of sneaks up on you. (Neither of my children have ever  done this. I've always seen pictures of other kids passed out in their highchairs and wondered exactly how much Benadryl was involved. No idea on why Laura was this tired but she'd had it.)

Sometimes I would like to jump into Will's brain and swim around in it for a while. The other day, he shushed me while he was pressing his ear to my forearm. He said if I listened hard enough, I could hear the sea. (Not the ocean, the sea.) He also asked in the car the other day, out of the blue, if I remember being a cheerleader. (I would hope that I'm able to remember that, as it wasn't all that long ago that it happened.)

Sometimes (okay, probably more than "sometimes") if it's really nice out like it is today, I do everything in my power to avoid doing yardwork. Because it makes way more sense to me to do it when it's 95 and so humid out you can barely see. But sitting here in the mess that is our yard, I can only stand it for so long. So it's yardwork time. Not to be confused with Hammer Time. Now that I think of it, though, maybe the enjoyment factor for yardwork would be upped if I did it in Hammer pants while rapping and dancing. Something to ponder, anyway.