Because Life Doesn’t Really Work Out as Planned

While I am basically done with my job, less than a week after handing over the reins to my successor, my father was diagnosed with cancer and my mother drove off the road a mile from home and wrapped her car around a tree.  She is thankfully fine, and I think my father will be as well.  But it has been a rather stressful 48 hours, and my grand plans of resuming my blog writing have been put on hold temporarily.

So, in lieu of a real post, I give the following “overheard” conversation with C.

C (after waking up the morning after a sitter had been here for 6 hours the night before): “Did you get a good report from Favorite Sitter?”

Chichimama: “Um, not particularly.  She said you were difficult.”

Silence.

Chichimama: “Were you?”

C: “Well, that kind of depends on your definition of the word difficult I suppose.”

Chichimama: “Ah.  Well, my definition in this instance is ‘Did Favorite Sitter have to yell at you?'”

C: “Well, if you are using THAT definition, then yes.”

Chichimama: “And which definition should I use if the answer were to be no?”

C: “I’ll have to get back to you on that one.”

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