I just got back from taking DrBob to the airport. He was home for ten whole days, and I got completely used to having him around. Ten days is a key number for me, because it’s the limit of my leaky memory: anything that happened more than ten days ago might have happened at any time during my adult life, and I have to scout around for external clues to remember when it actually happened. For example, I know that I was a hockey mom for two or possibly three years between 2001, when we moved to OurTown, and … well, ten days ago. But I’d have to read my blog archives to narrow it down.
Hm. I think I had a point… oh, right. I’ve been With Help for ten days now, and don’t really remember how to do it the other way. DrBob will be back in ten days, by which time I will have forgotten what it is he eats, and what to do with a man underfoot all the time.
He says my life must be so exciting – every day is full of surprises. I think that’s a nice way of looking at it.
Bonus conversation today with Ignatz:
He: I tried on my old hockey sweatsuits (zippy-up one-piece warm under-layer, for ski camp next week).
Me: Did they fit?
He: Not really.
Me: How not really?
He: Butt floss.
Song du jour of the day: Hold On To You, by Madrugada