Last Thursday, Krista and I went out for an impromptu dinner. It had been a very good design week and I had just come from a successful meeting. She got the kids into end-of-day mode and we took off to Cornelius Roadhouse for beer and burgers (cholesterol be damned for one evening, right?). We get home around 10:30 or so and a short note, a notebook, and a perfectly sharpened pencil is on the floor at the entrance to our bedroom…
There is a reason Aneila has gotten better and better grades this year and will end with something close to straight A’s in another two weeks. She is ORGANIZED. Sometimes obsessively so, which we work with her on. But when it’s in the healthy way, she impresses me, a person who writes copious notes and then forgets he wrote them. Or writes an important note on the wrong date in his Moleskine daytimer and then can never find it.
That she explains what “It” refers to is either disturbingly organized (project manager material) or a statement of how unreliable she thinks her parents are after they’ve downed a pint of Ruby Red and consumed a Captain Neon.
