We have enough interest that the Peep Show will go on! It will be smaller than previous years, but that is okay. :)
All-O-ver, Ol-i-vore . . . we're learning that Oliver's name has some fun mispronunciations.
Also, ask him what is name is and this is what you'll hear: "My name is Oli . . . Oli . . . Oliv . . . Oli . . . I don't know."
Here I am at SFO. Again. What should have been a 40 minute layover has turned into a 5 hour layover with merely a possibility of getting on the red-eye at 10:30. Flying standby. And if I don't get on the standby flight . . . they tell me my next shot at JFK isn't for 24 hours. Yeah. So let's hope that doesn't happen. And if I don't get on standby, well, there's got to be another way home.
S: Oliver, Is Mom a child of God?
O: Yes!
S: No, Mom is a grown up!
The one night -- ever -- when Micah and I get to bed at 10:00 and could, feasibly, get 9 hours of uninterrupted sleep, Simon wakes up crying inexplicably at midnight and can't go back to sleep, Oliver falls out of bed, and we're all out a couple of hours of sleep. Clearly we need to never try to go to to bed early. It's the only way to get a good night's sleep around here.
I was thinking about writing you a love letter for Father’s Day. You know, to let you know how much I appreciate you and how it’s been a pleasure to bear your children and how I’ve missed you so much since you flew back to New York on Monday and left me to fend for myself with these two rascals after me all the time.
But since then I’ve been pretty consumed by being their horse, encyclopedia, safety officer, comforter, nutritionist, trampoline guardian, baseball coach, disciplinarian, translator, ball fetcher, spoon-feeder, and cleanliness expert, among other things.
And, frankly, I’m exhausted. So maybe I’ll get around to that letter next year.
Enjoy your last few days of Father’s Week. I hope you get enough sleep.
xoxox,
lizzie.
ps You owe me bigtime.








