A Fragrant Palm

 

I don’t remember which trip to Colorado it was, but since at this point all of them have sort of blurred together I suppose it doesn’t matter—and at any rate, the timing isn’t the point.  The point is, I came home, made a spontaneous trip to Home Depot for… something?  (Again, the actual purpose of the errand is irrelevant) and came home with a Majesty Palm tree.

 

Because I have no sense of proportion.

 

I don’t know what came over me, I just saw her there and she had to come home with me.

potted palm tree in front of glass doors

Her name is Madge

 

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“Reassuring”

 

I would like to address this comment, to which I did not reply directly because I was busy accumulating evidence.

Comment on this blog: "And yet no matter how hard I try and reassure you, you always seem to get more stressed. Maybe I'm doing it wrong? Nah. I can't be wrong."

Yep, that’s him.

 

Now, I saw that comment and had to laugh; that’s my little smartass, doing his level best to make me look like the crazy overprotective mother[1].

 

Which gives me all the excuse I need to tell you just how reassuring he’s been these past weeks since his arrival at Fabulous Bagram, Afghanistan.

 

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Scattered

 

Offspring is in Afghanistan.

 

ME:  How’s it going?
OFFSPRING:  Pretty shitty day, actually.  It’s raining, long shift… and I had to enact the River City protocol.
ME:  What’s that?
OFFSPRING:  Shut down internet.  Because someone died.  Someone I was literally just talking to.
ME:  … I’m so sorry, hon.

(we talk about this for a while; him clearly still in shock and sleep-deprived, me gamely hiding my own tears of sympathy and relief that it wasn’t my boy)

ME:  Wait a minute… if there’s no internet, how are you calling me?
OFFSPRING:  Oh, it was on the other side.  Plus…  I’m on dirty internet.
ME:  …
OFFSPRING:  ‘s technically illegal, but I ran it myself, in my own room, so it’s fine.
ME:  … I love you, kid.
OFFSPRING:  What’re they gonna do, right?

 

Woman kneeling in front of child says, "I'm a proud mom"

 

Husband is in Taiwan.

 

HIM:  They took us out for dinner.
ME:  (sleepily, I am 13 hours behind)  Mmmh?
HIM:  To a “traditional Chinese restaurant.”
ME:  … Oh.
HIM:  Yeah.  The second course was some sort of tofu with a fish sauce.
ME:  Oh honey… I’m sorry.
HIM:  I didn’t know about the fish sauce until I took that first bite.[1]
ME:  (nodding)  Because you’re in a place where fish is so ubiquitous they don’t even think of it as an ingredient.[2]
HIM:  So now not only do I not like tofu because of the texture—
ME:  Okay, I keep telling you—
HIM:  But now the last time I had it there was fish sauce and I got sick.
ME:  … Right.  But the texture thing: tofu has a lot of textures.  There’s no one specific texture that’s “tofu.”
HIM:  But that’s part of the problem!
ME:  … (considers possibility that I’m actually still asleep)

(Will and Grace) Karen holds out hand, says to Jack, "I'm to tired to slap you. Bash your face against my palm, would ya?"

 

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