I am always amazed that I can remember the various passwords I have everywhere. My heart flutters a bit every time something asks for either my user name or password because there are so very many. There are the places that want something longer than 6 characters. The ones that positively require some numbers. And I feel like a fool beyond all foolishness when I can't accurately fill in something that asks for my "name." I've been so many names--NancyCl2001 (yes, that's one that insisted I have some numeric figures in there), nantwins, my real name, my name with an underscore, my email handle, some past email handle. It's frustrating. I'm stunned I'm actually on this site and able to compose something after not remembering my own identity.

Today was one of those relatively lovely days, made all the more lovely by the fact that the phone rang early and I was out of bed and functional at 8 a.m., something I wish I was every morning but that doesn't always work out the way I planned because I stay up too late or sleep poorly and try to make up for it by sleeping late in the morning. Such is the luxury of my life. But the very best days, to me, are the ones spent lingering at the park. Especially after having productive schoolwork done. We were on a roll this morning. Everything intended was covered. Cheerfully, even. I'm not sure when we turned that corner to not having the struggle or groans when I say it's time to get our work done. Now if only I could get them to pay attention to whether there is a plus or a minus sign in the problem, we'd be cruising right along with everything done in about 45 minutes or fewer. How does a person spend four hours at the park, though?! But it was charming. Relaxing.

Quantity time has been on my mind lately. Whatever that means. I'm into quantity time at the moment, maybe because I'm too lazy to move around doing a bunch of different things. With the twins, I'm trying to figure out how I can combine some quality and quantity with them while not bumping into that continual frustration of where Rutledge is. I badmouth poor Mr. Rutty all the time lately, and I'm ignoring the fact that increasingly he is playing with Frances or better yet, by himself in his bedroom. Count the blessings of the later child, right? Walter and Ollie couldn't do anything without me being right in sight; Rutty probably craves the occasional quiet, alone spot.

Our cat is rather sweet. It's a shame that I never, ever think about her. I forget we even have a cat most of the time. She has been my good buddy for the past few nights, although I can't seem to get through to her that watching her licking herself makes my skin crawl. Right now she is curled up in a rather strange manner on her back with her legs in the air and is sleeping against me. I had never been a cat person before we found Minou, and I'm still probably never going to truly be a cat person (all that licking! Those nasty dead moles!). Which reminds me that tonight I will, no matter what, get out of the Tiki Room. It's like a magnet for me. I have a million excuses why I'm here. Not the least tonight because I have an intimidating mountain of laundry in my bedroom; I can't relax or sleep when there is clutter in my space.

I finished the book I was reading last night, the one April recommended. It was chick lit, for sure, but there's most certainly a time and place for it, and this one was better than most. The ending was so-so, as I guess was the book. What is it lately with books tying up so very neatly at the end? The Kite Runner did this is a major and rather annoying way. This book also did it, but because it was so much lighter in tone and was goofy for the most part anyway, it was less bothersome. And the protagonist was some combination of really funny and freaky--in that sense that she made me think, please tell me I'm not as insane as her. No one I share this crazy idea of mine with agrees with me at all, and forgive me if I've written it in this venue before (do we ever really think any new thoughts?), but my belief is that true friendship is predicated on a belief that your friend is crazier than you are. And that the feeling has to be mutual: "I'm the normal one, and you are not!" I know, that's awful! And worse than awful was that I kept thinking, oh my, this character in this book is so much like Donna (down to the red hair...). I am a bad, bad girl. It is perhaps time for a Jane Austen fix.

When, oh when, is this odd throat thing at night going to end? Could I be developing an allergy to the Tiki Room? I hate to repeat my favorite line lately, but maybe this is another case of "Here's your sign."

Now it's morning, and wow, what a sinus headache. My normal attack plan is to sleep it off, but that's a little out the winsow when you wake up with the problem. On to caffeine, methamsudafed (the kind you need to show I.D. for now...sigh), and it's still there. Starbucks might be the next plan. Or crazy amounts of water, though that sounds like a questionable plan seeing as we're going to be at a park with nothing but a Porta-John for the better part of today.

Mission accomplished with school again, too, today. Now the remains of the day can take shape, with no guilt. Plans: continue systematic cleaning (I'm doing the ADD version right now...), mop kitchen floor, remember to feed the children lunch today, Pufferbelly Park, get to gymnastics on time for once, try not to spend any money while I wait during gymnastics, wrestling, and bed. And make the headache go away.