10 Little, 9 Little, 8 Little Nibblings.

Ten meals, nine naps, eight [now dead] dandelions, seven snippets of song, six sirens' soundings, five passed days, four edited papers, three sketched cards, two (+2) loads of laundry, one weekend visit from college chums, and an extra partridge in a pear treeeeeee later, I visit shotsnaps. Life support. (For it, not for me.)

John leaves tomorrow morning for an extended stay away from this house and its distractions, taking the computer with him. Some time after he returns (arriving home no later than Saturday midnight, which is when his final exam is due), I will post a wonderful post, brimful of fun, shot through with wisdom, and boxed in by scores of glorious pictures. (Okay, so maybe I'll just post some details of my day and more pictures of the girls, but, either way, you can chew on something.) Until then, bide your time by reading Millie's most current account of her own future.

To set the scene: Babies in bellies everywhere, except in the Owen household...

Millie: [says something I can't remember which leads me to ask...]

Me: Millie, would you like to be a mama someday?

Millie: Yets, wid a baby in my belly.

Me: You have to marry a husband first, you know.

Millie: Mama, me and you will be our huBsands.

Me: You want me to be your husband?

Millie: Yets. And den I will have Millie and Annika babies.

The best I could figure, Millie and I will be huBsands so that she can raise herself-and-Annika clones. (Hmm. I guess I didn't figure it well enough.)