Children, children, everywhere: coming or going, building Legos in remote corners of a bedroom, blocking my stairs with Nugget pieces, or having an elicit sword fight on my couch (strictly forbidden behavior): I never know who’s in my house and usually call whichever children are there by the wrong name. Random socks I know I didn’t buy are forever littering the bottoms of my laundry hampers and our new winter pattern is to send children home with glow bracelets to make sure cars see their trotting forms. But somehow all of the dozen glow bracelets are always at my house. How does that happen?
A Pattern of Words 
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