Every morning the boys sprawl on the front hall rug waiting for Husband to come downstairs and drive them out the door and on to school. If I have time I sit with them and relax before getting down to work. This morning I was lying on the floor, trying to convince One to bring At the Back of the North Wind (by George MacDonald) with him to read in the car:
Me: "He's the author who inspired C.S. Lewis, you know."
One: "Having started this book I don't know how I'm supposed to tell that."
Meanwhile, Two was hunched over on the floor with his backpack on:
Two: "I'm a rock. A grouchy rock."
They aren't the same, you know. Their minds work in very, very different directions.
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