And it's only been six days since I last complained that it's not spring yet.
Six days closer to spring? Yeah, we'll go with that.
I recently read The Highly Sensitive Person, by Elaine Aron. As Anne Bogel pointed out, the only (and ironic) problem with this book is that some of the case studies mentioned will bother a highly sensitive person. Still, worth the read if you can get through the stories of abuse and are interested in finding out more about yourself, HSPs in general, or your HSP child.
After reading that, I couldn't decide what I was in the mood to read. I wandered around the house, perused bookshelves, started at least three different books (I'm in the mood for World War II drama! No, wait, I'm not at all. I may never be again. Tiny, Beautiful Things? No. Wait. More abuse. What else? A good bio? No! I don't know! What do I want to read? What do I need to read?)
Suddenly, I spotted Anne's House of Dreams.
Bingo. When you need a palate cleanser, run to Prince Edward Island.
Last week, when I told Ramona that our break was over and it was time to face the resumption of math, all she could summon in response was a Hamilton quote: "I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory."
(Not sure what I'll do with myself someday when my daughters aren't around to keep me laughing.)