AmazonMidwife

With all the weekend furor, the time change and the 'Savant's cold, we were still in bed at 8:30 yesterday. We could have slept later, but the kids' came piling in on us, the Boy babbling, seemingly, at a million words per hour. "(Girl), you are the last of the wood nymphs. I am the last of the fire nymphs. Dad, you are the last of the...physics nymphs...."

The Girl interrupted him at this point to express her displeasure over his highhandedness in passing out titles and I interrupted her in an attempt to forestall bickering, "What kind of nymph am I?"

From the other side of the bed comes the growly, cold-inflamed voice of the just awoken 'Savant. "Not the right kind."