Mornings here are a careful orchestration of and restrained hysteria over coffee, breakfast, the packing of lunches, the feeding of Sophie, the dressing of Sophie, the arguing over who feeds the dog and today over whether the Taliban were in Cuba (Oliver and The Husband, two peas in a pod). I'm the one who keeps things moving along at a fairly rapid clip. Mornings now include:
Don't forget the egg!
If you're French and reading this, take note: apparently, if you're the grandmother to your thirteen year old's egg, you're still the one in charge.