Yesterday I was at the doctor’s office, waiting for my appointment.  I had been knitting while I waited, but I realized that I would be the next person called inside and I didn’t want to be midrow, so I put my knitting away.

An older lady comes in and I notice right away that she is wearing a handknit, circular shawl.  And handknit socks.  After she gets through talking with the receptionist, I ask if that is a Pi shawl and if she knit it herself.  I thought all circular shawls were Pi shawls.  Yes, she did knit it herself, but no it is not Pi.  She goes into a very involved explanation about how the increases in her shawl were worked with simple yarn overs and how a Pi shawl uses the Pi formula to work its increases.

She lost me right away.  Math is never my strong suit and I have a head/chest cold.  I was already bug eyed from the build up of mucus pressure in the old noggin and now she is on a roll about Π.  As she was talking I began to wonder if she would notice my handknit socks.  I stretched my legs out as far as I could, hoping to make my jeans ride up just enough to expose my own handknit wonder. 

nothing doing, she was still all about Π.

I’m all about pie too….

….. with whipped cream.

A 6 year old and a 4 year old are upstairs in their bedroom.
"You know what?" says the 6 year old.

"I think it’s about time we started cussing."

The 4 year old nods his head in approval.

The 6 year old continues, "When we go downstairs for
breakfast,  I’m gonna say something with ‘hell’ and you say
something with ‘ass’.

The 4 year old agrees with enthusiasm.

When their mother walks into the kitchen and asks the 6 year
old  what he wants for breakfast, he replies, "Aw, hell, Mom, I
guess I’ll have some Cheerios."

WHACK!

He flies out of his chair, tumbles across the kitchen
floor,  gets up, and runs up stairs crying his eyes out, with his
mother in hot pursuit, slapping his rear with every step.

His mom locks him in his room and shouts, "You can just stay there
until I let you out!"

She then comes back downstairs, looks at the 4 year old and
asks with a stern voice,
"And what do YOU want for breakfast, young man?"

I don’t know " he blubbers, "but you can bet your fat ass it
won’t be Cheerios."

On Wednesday evening we had to put our little Shih-tzu Gizmo to sleep.  It had been a long time coming as you know and it was very clear that the time was now.  Knowing that made it an easy decision.  That little dog was my very first canine love affair.  We had dogs when I was growing up, but they always loved my mother best (the hand that feeds them).  Mo came into our lives at a point when the girls were young, but not babies anymore. He became my third child. 

In truth, he really was a little bastard – barking and biting everyone’s ankles, peeing in the house, aggressive with the other dogs – but he loved me.  Worshipped me.  He was always wherever I was – followed me everywhere – if we were in the den and I needed to be in the kitchen, he came.  Run downstairs to move laundry along?  there he was.  In the bathroom?  Little Man Mo.