The Mom asked whether we should change the youngest's afternoon routine because she read something about children choosing their own rest times. I listened. I also remembered the last afternoon nobody rested and a sock being wrong was enough to upset the whole house. I don't think every new idea is foolish, but I want to know what problem we are fixing before we fix it. A child can choose a book. That does not mean a tired child knows why everything feels terrible. I have three little people to get through the afternoon, not a paragraph on a screen. We are talking about it again tomorrow when there is not a child pulling on either of us.

My son waved from the marching band line before the game. Just lifted two fingers, not a big performance, but I knew it was for me because he looked straight up at my usual spot. I was pleased enough to embarrass him and had to settle for waving back with one hand. He is fifteen and some days everything I say gets an answer like I have asked the same question six times. Which I may have. Up there in the bleachers I did not feel like I was bothering anybody. He knew I would come and he was looking for me. I told my father afterward, and he said the boy has sense. Amen to that.

Took my church shoes off before I even put the program on the fridge. My feet had been hot since the second hymn and the little seams in my stockings felt twice as thick as when I put them on. Sat down with my legs stretched out while my son looked for the remote. For once I did not get up and find it for him. The room was cool and I could feel the pressure easing across the front of my feet, that good loose feeling you cannot get standing still. Woke from my Sunday nap with one stocking still on. My son had taken a picture. He has been informed that the picture is not church business.