After posting 27 different stories about my kids over the last month, I find myself in a strange position. I don’t know what to write about tonight. The kiddies haven’t said or done anything particularly eventful, so following are some gentle stream-of-consciousness (à la André Breton and the French surrealists of the early 20th century, but with a dose of self-censorship on my part – since this is a family blog, after all – of which Breton would never approve,) musings about not much at all.

Sophie did say “love you” at one point a few hours ago, but she’s done that before. And she’s talking more clearly, using a vocabulary that expands by the day. She frolicked in the puddles on the way to the bus stop this morning and got very wet (Chloe never did such childish things). She pulled the pillows off the couch and improvised a bed on the floor. She had trouble falling asleep at naptime, and held court with herself for close to an hour before finally succumbing to her fatigue. Sophie has discovered the joys of privacy and suddenly likes to keep the door to the sunroom closed in order to make mischief without parental supervision.

Chloe came home from school with a new spelling journal. She has her first spelling test on Friday, with ‘short a’ words like cat, man, catch, at and an. She made a lovely thank-you card with intricate bubble letters (and a good amount of white-out) for a cousin who gave her a collection of books.

We told Chloe that she would be having a veggie burger for dinner tonight (it’s one of the only ways we can get vegetables into her tummy), but she is waging a veggie burger strike as I write this. It’s fifteen minutes until bedtime. She may end up going to bed hungry for the first time. I am sensing weakness on her part, however. I think she will cave because she’s starting to groan. Then again, she is her mother’s daughter and she is awfully stubborn. It’s now five minutes until bedtime and she’s still groaning. I’m starting to lose hope. It’s now five minutes past bedtime. The groaning continues unabated, now accompanied by manipulative tears. Almost 1/2 hour past bedtime, and she’s resorted to bargaining tactics. I’m starting to feel guilty, but I must remain strong. Am I to become one of those mean parents who sends her children to bed without eating? Is this the beginning of lifetime therapy for Chloe, mood-enhancing drugs, promiscuous sex? All because of a veggie burger? That would be truly pathetic.