After making my legs burn on my second bike ride home this week (I completed my 483rd 2009-2010 commuting mile this evening), I decided for the second day in a row to heap physical insult on injury by splitting firewood.

I nearly finished up the pile of easy-to-split pieces–I won’t think about that other pile right now; even though it’s not terribly big, it’ll be more work than all the rest busted apart, probably–and had but one large piece to finish up in order to feel accomplished, when I realized I had a problem on my hands: I know it won’t be the end of the world (for crying out loud, she could want to study art or English), but apparently N is planning to be an environmental philosophy major when she grows up and flits the coop.

You simply can’t argue with a convinced tree hugger.

I was tired and couldn’t think right off the top of my head how to creatively get her agreeably out of the way, so we went inside for her bath and then her snack, during which I helped with some of the yolks but none of the rest of the five (or was it six?) whole hard boiled eggs she put away.