My children quietly ask for my time. I wish that they would shout for it. My son half-looks at a book, and half-looks at me. You would think that even thick, old me would get that kind of hint.
Well, now I can take a deep breath and maybe get around to all the things that have not been yelling at me. The football, volleyball and cross country seasons are over. A large chunk of farming chores are over, though never all.
