Surrender Some days I am fairly confident that if I were Sherlock Holmes, Isaac Newton, or Socrates I would still struggle keeping up with the mental maneuvering of my men folk at home. It really shouldn’t be that complicated. There are, after all, only chiefs living with me, no “injuns”. Hence one of my darling savages is usually jockeying for the upper hand. If I shed that light on their behavior, most of the irritating things they do and say make sense. The problem with my ability to cope lies in timing, lack of sleep, and lack of coffee. They give me their best shots when I am least able to repel the advance. Don’t moms get downtime? Isn’t 40 years of caffeine addiction portent enough? Is there no compassion from the young and strong after ten hours of blissful repose for the middle-aged, menopausal, out-of-shape, overworked, lucky if she got six hours of restless sleep due to a mind that ruminates on an endless list of responsibilities and the state of aff