We Have to Stop Meeting Like This

I’m blogging at the wrong end of the day.

My experiment in morning meditation has turned into an exercise in staying awake after bedtime. And Mommy wants off the treadmill.

Overheard from the backseat:

Gbot: “Want… more… ice cream bar.”

Mbot: “No, G! It’ll make ya fat. Then you’ll have to stay up all night on da treadmill to make ya puff down.”


Mbot: “Mom? Do treadmills make ya puff down?”

Yeah, they do, Mbot, darling. Mama’s puffing down her ambitions tonight.

Sleep well.

Treadmills: Good or bad?