Some weeks are heads buried under the blanket as you dictate the spelling list, and you vacillate between wanting to yell "Get your HEAD OUT FROM UNDER THE BLANKET!" and thinking, "Does it really matter if his head is under the blanket?"
Some weeks you just want to watch the red-bellied woodpecker and the goldfinches and the pretty red house finches frolic at the feeder behind his head.
Some days, it's too sunny and beautiful to think about grammar. It's better just to put up your hammock under some trees in the back yard or just to pet the cat in some sunny spot.
Some days, it's too dismal and dreary to do anything at all.
Some weeks you completely, 100% understand when he groans when you say, "Let's start school" or when you peak in at her and she's snuggled under her blankets watching a movie instead of writing her paper.
Some weeks, you're counting down the days until summer.
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