So, we’re racing to gymnastics this morning, right on the verge of being late (business as usual), and about 100 yards from the gym, traffic slows to a stop. We see flashing red lights ahead. We’ve come to a train crossing, and a L-O-N-G train is S-L-O-W-L-Y making its way across the road.
“Aaarrgghhh!” I say, frustrated.
And from the back seat, a heavy, exasperated sigh. “Newman!”
That’s my girl.