My sixth-grade honor student's assigned reading:

"Do you know me? I'm Huck Finn. I was in THE ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER. That book was made by Mark Twain. He told the truth, mainly. He did stretch some parts. That's nothing. I never heard of people who always told the truth."

The first paragraph is annotated in pencil in my daughter's hand: "Stupid."

My husband: "I can hardly wait until 'African-American Servant Jim' shows up."

The movers are coming Friday. The California purchase is supposed to close Thursday, 3/28. And the local sale, due to close 3/26,. seems to be falling through. The buyer and the buyer's agent and the buyer's mortgage company had neglected to inform us that the purchase was contingent on the buyer's husband signing a separation agreement. Which he has missed repeated opportunities to do, each time without explicitly refusing to sign or authorizing his lawyer to admit that he had not signed.

So I am scurrying madly to attempt to preserve the purchase of our dream house.

Daughter stepping out of shower, dripping wet hair hanging to her knees: "I don't like to be vain, but I approve of every single aspect of being me."

It sounds nice to be eleven.