Getting the children into bed tonight resembled whack-a-mole. One child went down; another reared her head. Cries of Where's Floppy? and I can't find Brown Bear wafted down the steps. I scrambled through the house, searching for and delivering the missing companions to children who now wanted drinks and requested another trip to the bathroom.
Finally, silence reigned. It was beautiful.
My intentions were to relish in this uninterrupted splendor and make some progress with my book, yet I fell into a trap. I checked email. I scrolled on Facebook. I Googled something. And somehow 71 precious minutes have passed since the girls have been asleep.
Oh, Internet, you. You have the ability like no one else to sneakily suck away time.
I have one thing going for me in terms of productivity, though. Joel and I are working out times -- a few hours here and there -- when I can slip away to a local bookstore, plug in my laptop, unabashedly use two chairs as I prop up my feet, and write. Write like the wind, I tell you. Words fly when I write there.
This is because I do not know their code to access the Internet.
I will never, ever ask for it.