For a few weeks now we’ve been getting the Sunday New York Times. When we were in college, our Sunday mornings unfolded leisurely. Then came the period of law school studies, vet school studies and before vet school was even officially over, the first kid. Then, the second kid the standard two years later. What all of this meant was that our Sunday mornings with coffee and the paper went extinct for a period of years. But now, it appears, they are back. Not in entirely the same fashion of course. Our kids, no longer omni-needy, can be sent off to play for an hour or two. Sometimes this requires us to turn a blind eye to some alarming circumstances, but this is a price worth paying. Yesterday, for instance, the boys were playing while we sat downstairs with some grown up friends. There were several dull thuds and then an excruciating and prolonged scraping sound, then a final thud. Christophe looked at me quizzically, and I said one of many things I didn’t realize I would say before I had kids, “They’re out in the crawl space. That’s why the sound is amplified.” The unheated, unlit, wood plank floored crawl space. We’ve had mice there, and flying squirrels I suspect. Perhaps, I thought to myself, the boys’ presence in there will keep the rodents at bay. And I took another sip of my coffee.