Internet stalkers take note: Mondays and Wednesdays, I'm home alone with the kids until about 8:30 or so, while Willem administers math upon a shining and grateful group of semiconscious college students. Among us, we've created a pretty good routine - the kids and I keep things mellow in the evenings, and I get them in bed and even asleep enough before he comes home that they don't bound, all Flubberlike, out of bed to pester Daddy.

Lately, there's been a bit of a change to our evenings, because one of Willem's classmates has an evening class and an almost-2-year-old, and the two don't go together so well. So Little L gets dropped off here, screams for her mother for about 3.2 seconds, and then lets my kids boss her around for a few hours until bedtime. Again, a good routine, and all are unconscious prior to Willem's arrival. The major difference for me is that, on Little L nights, by the time Willem gets home, my throat and cheeks hurt from all the smiling and cheerfulness.

Little L is as cute as a button but much smaller and louder, and for the most part she has a blast here. But at unexpected moments, she bursts into "Maaaamaaaaa, Maaaaamaaaaa," and the only surefire fix for it is a one-two of a stern, "L, we don't shout like that here," followed by a determinedly bright and cheerful distraction. Not that I walk around growling and swearing when it's just my blood relations here, and I don't care if Willem tells you otherwise, but I'm also not prone to chirpiness.

It's also fairly hilarious to watch Little L and Jacob together. He's about 9 months older than her, which clearly makes him a Man of the World. All suave and debonair as he fills her in on the proper method of drinking "choca milk." And she aims a steady stream of information right back at him, but in a tone and inflection that makes it clear that her primary language is Furbee. She is able to make herself understood, but often via much repetition and volume for the kind if slightly daft woman who spends Monday evenings with her. My current favorite is the Ippeaux, Little L's Gallic take on the moniker of Hippo.

So, now, they're all asleep and Willem's not home yet, and I'm glaring sternly at the computer to try and balance out the facial expressions for the evening.

I'm also glaring at the TV a bit, because tonight is the season opener of The Bachelor, and we all know that I love my Bachelor Snark. But I'm not partaking this year, because of a combination of lack of interest and lack of willingness to spend time with people with whom, aside from their willingness to dwell on the faults of others, I have very little in common. If there are lonely Bachelor watchers out there who are looking for a little superiority and snark, let me know... otherwise, I'll be watching all by my lonesome and pretending intellectual superiority all by myself.