Spy in our midst

There's a spy in my house. I found a little home-made book (two sheets of paper stapled together) on our dining room table. On the cover was written, "Private! Dare to open this secret book!" with a picture of a skull and cross bones. Clearly the handiwork of my eight-year old daughter. I think she meant to write "Don't dare...." but I took her at her word and, reader, I dared. (Of course I would have opened it anyway. Evidence in plain sight and all. And I'm super nosy.)

Here's what our V. Plame wanna be (but, I hope, without the unhappy ending) wrote:
1. Dad reads newspaper aloud to mom. Seems worried.
2. Now Dad is typing on the computer without stopping or blinking. Angry at computer. Holds his head murmuring. Eats a carrot.
3. Thing 1 and Thing 2 GONE!!!!!
3. Mom absorbed in work. Doesn't want us to read page on website. Suspicious.

Or maybe she's a Jane Austen wanna be. Because in four succinct lines, you have our entire life in a nutshell. My husband is home on sabbatical, writing a book. He spends a lot of time either worried about things in the newspaper and ranting, or working and "angry at the computer." He's also a health nut, so when he simply can't take it anymore, he gets up and takes it out on a carrot. My teenagers are always gone. Two minutes ago, they were babies and now they're "GONE!!!" I'm shocked too. And, look, there's me! Ignoring my adorable youngest, and sitting at this machine trying to write, pleading, "Honey, could you please not look over my shoulder? I'll be done soon, and then we'll do something fun. OK?"

Boring? Yep. "Suspicious?" Sadly not.