I'm at home today, working for an extra hour before we head to Friend Who Doesn't Want a Pseudonym's house for dinner. I found out today that my dad has serious coronary disease, and is going to have quadruple bypass surgery in the morning. This is a big surprise to all of us--Dad has had surprisingly few symptoms for a man whose heart is in the worst shape his surgeon has seen in quite some time--and I'm taking an extra hour before dinner to make progress on a paper that's seriously overdue. I want to get it done, first to just be done with it, and secondly, to allow myself easy travel out east to visit with my parents when my dad is out of the hospital (assuming all goes well tomorrow, knock wood, knock pixels.) Politica and Curious Girl are outside, giving me space to work. But the conversation that just transpired begs to be blogged, and begs to be remembered. So I'll write it here, and then get back to working.
Curious Girl: "Mama, what are you doing?"
Me: "I'm writing a paper."
CG: "What does it say? Who is it for?"
Me: "It's for other English teachers, to give them ideas about how to teach better."
CG: "That's a good idea. That's good, Mama."
CG: "You are the best! You are the best apartment chair."
CG: "Do you know why you're the best apartment chair?"
Me: "Sweetheart, that's really kind of you. Why am I the best apartment chair?"
CG: "Because you're a mother. Some other apartment chairs aren't mothers. But you are, so you're the best."
Maybe Lisa Belkin (against whom I competed in high school debate) should interview CG one of these days. And now, back to writing.