Guess who's coming to breakfast?

Not much to report of late. My semester ends tonight, so now I really have no excuse for skipping the gym. Or at least getting outside and running before or after work.

We've started watching our neighbor's eight-year-old in the morning. His brother, who usually watches him before heading out to work, is inexplicably out of the country for the next three weeks [in fairness, they're Bosnian nationals, and he is alleged to be in Bosnia visiting his alleged grandmother]. So we now have "N" from about 6:50 each morning until he gets on the bus at 8:10.

[Sidenote: I'm not trying to recreate the 19th-century fiction writer's convention of naming characters by letters; I just honestly don't know how to spell the child's name. I only found out recently I'd been pronouncing it wrong for the three years we've been living next door to him.]

Anyway, I'm sure you're thinking this is no big deal. And all things considered, it's not. He's a sweet kid, and our neighbors are good, kind people and would certainly help us out were we in the same situation.

But for those of you who don't get to spend the first hour and a half of your day each morning with someone else's eight-year-old, count your blessings.

I spend a lot of time each morning repeating to myself the mantra: "good deed; good deed; good deed."

Samson, of course, loves having this early morning playdate. He is obsessed with big kids, and every morning he gets to have a real, live one in his living room. The only thing that would make it better would be if "N" rode a tractor up our front steps while playing guitar.

It's actually sweet to watch this little guy get on the bus and to watch our even littler guy waving at him and all the kids on their way to school.

It would be a lot sweeter if it wasn't every day, but still...

[good deed; good deed; good deed]