Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn!
The sheep’s in the meadow, the cow’s in the corn.
Where is the boy that looks after the sheep?
Under the haystack, fast asleep! (Mother Goose nursery rhyme)
Lately I have been feeling like Little Boy Blue. I have allowed my duties to go untended and am more exhausted than ever. With a toddler in the house, “letting things go” goes faster than it used to. So it is that I, the keeper of this home’s little lamb, have no idea how he came to shove crayons up the water cooler spouts or where in the world he hid all of his snack bowls (and as I search, I pray they contain no hordes of snacks to attract other nibblers). When my husband wonders where his organized wife is, where the vigilant watcher of his child has gone, I have to admit that she is “under the haystack,” trying to sleep. Only it is not a haystack. It is an enormous pile of laundry.