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.”


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.”



  1. I hope things improve for you family and no more drama comes knocking.

  2. Oh my gosh! I’m keeping you guys in my thoughts and hope that everything turns out OK. Hugs!

  3. That dialogue is pretty funny.

    I’m sorry to hear about your dad’s diagnosis and your mom’s accident. I’m glad she’s OK and I hope his treatment is as painless and effective as possible.

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