I don't see how that would help, really

Flying Up

A million years ago, when I was in Brownies, there was a ceremony in which we "flew up" to become Girl Scouts. It was my first inkling that ceremonies were human constructs, and (to my mind) therefore suspect, although not altogether bogus.

Last night, a dear friend's mother died, and my friend became, as I did some years ago, the matriarch of her family. She "flew up". And it's not a piffling thing to be the ranking woman in the family.

Not having been endowed with much in the way of "gravitas", I wear this mantle lightly. That's not to say I don't appreciate it. It just seems to me that taking it too seriously would disrespect the "office", and ill serve the daughters watching and wondering how we do this aging and dying routine.

Let's make it as much fun as we can, ok?

0 for 2

Strike One: I falsely accuse my dds of being ungrateful wretches (it turned out to be His sock!).

Strike Two: I jinx dd #1 by telling her how lucky she is her enchanting son has never really been sick. An hour later, he wakes up from his nap and (literally) tosses his lunch.

Time Out! If I'd known the cosmic pranksters had me targeted, I would have predicted, in smug pontifical tones, that there's no way he could learn to [read, say his grandparents' names, change his own diaper] at this age.

Hope you feel better, wee one . . .

How sharper than a serpent's tooth. . .!

Some thanks I get these days for just trying to be a good Mom! I innocently ask if anyone has lost a sock and One Of Them (guess which!) says, snarkily:

"what kind of a question is that? sure, i'm missing socks. probably including a brown one. you expect me to keep track of these things?"

To which The Other One replies, with a pathetic sympathy play:

"do I have some brown cotton socks without mates? Yes. But, after a recent sock drawer analysis, I have concluded I have more unmatched socks than I do matched ones. Sigh."

I give up! This sock is hereby offered free to the highest bidder.

Slept like a baby...

Once again, we're having howling winds and lashing rain. To watch Fox News, you'd think we're all pinned under collapsed buildings and fallen trees. But compared to the last storm or the one last year, this one seems less destructive by far. Easy for me to say, isn't it, when it's not my house that was crushed by a fir tree? Nor was my garage blown out onto a highway, as happened near Brooks.

Normally, when the wind sounds like a train going by, I can't relax and sleep is fitful at best. Too many huge limbs have fallen from the cedar tree and missed (or kissed) the house. But after beheading it last year (yes, I know it's sad and ugly) we're pretending it's no longer dangerous. Sure, the whole thing could go over - it's still fifty feet tall and five feet in diameter, after all. I think it's just that we did all we could to make ourselves safe, and now we give ourselves a pass on worrying.

Tempting fate? Maybe...