Tonight H and I went to a play, written by my former colleague and current client. It was a study of depression and how untreated mental illness can lead to despair and ultimately disaster. It was amazing to see the brainchild of someone I know brought to life on stage. If you have read my blog (and I realize I am addressing no one at this time other than perhaps my mother) you know that I hold writing, in any of its forms, in very high regard. So I was impressed, and humbled, by the efforts and accomplishments of the playwright. If the play wasn't ending on Sunday I would recommend it.
The Roses stayed home with their nanny, who worked a 13 hour day (God bless her). Rose #1 brought home a very cute crop of school pictures (unlike Rose #2's pictures, that came back displaying an unpleasant grimace on her face...). Rose #2 is - knock wood, cross fingers, cross hair, whatever - at least arguably on the mend, though I think she is going to stay home tomorrow just to be sure. Rose #3 is cheerful and begged me to read Amelia Bedelia. Anyone else out there get sort of annoyed at the number of times you are required to repeat Amelia Bedelia in any of those books? I realize that repetition is part of the charm and the appeal for kids, but sheesh.