Boy, do I feel like something the cat dragged in. My husband and I were up last night until the wee morning hours, writing yet another letter to our state’s Department of Ed. This time Scott my husband was up writing the letter with me. In fact, it was his letter: I just edited this time. Then he went back and edited my editing. He said I am not Patrick Henry, and he doesn’t know if the colonists ever called King George “tyrannical” to his face (or in a letter), but it wasn’t going to be in our letter.

This is another reason why is it is good to have a husband: to save you from yourself, if you can be obedient to him. Their vision is usually more far-reaching than ours. They stand a head taller than us. My husband has just about the most difficult job of any man, I’d say. There is one thing I can say for certain: we agree on things. He first taught me how to edit while I was in college early in our marriage. You’d think he was cutting off my right arm. I was an English major at the time, and a scientist was editing my papers! He had put himself through grueling writing classes in order to be able to write his scientific papers. Reading one of his publications is the still the most challenging reading I’ve come across. Just the titles can frighten you, things like:

Identification of neuron-specific Ivermectin binding site

in Drosophila melanogaster and Schistocerca americana

I never learned his type of editing anywhere before. I am appreciative of his patience in teaching me those skills. (Don't look for great writing skills on a blog! They're informal.)

Scott dragged himself up this morning and has to teach his class tonight. The band is playing a lullaby.