Balancing Act: My kids are on vacation without me. It's lovely and terrible
"I just read that whole thing start-to-finish," my husband marveled.
It wasn't "Middlemarch." It was a Tribune column about the 1968 Democratic National Convention. But he read it, start-to-finish, on a Sunday morning, which is normally a whirlwind of backyard baseball and elaborate breakfast orders and someone making slime/pancakes/a craft involving a glue gun and someone needing a ride to Ben's and someone needing a ride to Target as soon as it opens to buy more glue.
On this particular Sunday, though,
