A Mom's Life

Andy is a man of many caves. He has the office at our house. It's a dark and creepy place, a labyrinth. The light from the almost hidden window casts mysterious shadows on stacks of paper, boxes- large and small- and cords. Lots and lots of cords. The door to this cave always stays shut. I'm afraid to go in. I'm afraid to look in. Andy disappears in the cave, from time to time. I've considered tying a rope around his waist, and providing him with a headlamp and a bottle of water before he goes in. I don't know what goes on in that cave and I don't want to know. Andy's next cave is the garage. When we moved in, it was a lovely, large, 2-bay with a loft above. Now, it is a vortex. The Great UpState Garbage Patch. One must certainly bring their spelunking gear with them when entering our garage. Good hiking boots are a necessity. Also, bring a headlamp, a walking stick, and maybe some mace. I'm pretty sure things that don't have legs move in our gara...

When I was little, relatives from Arkansas used to visit us for a week. Within just a few days of their arrival, my usual Yankee tongue would turn into an odd twang, as words became an an odd mix of Southern drawl and rhotic severity. My family used to poke fun at me for something I don't think I consciously intended to do. I was a little chameleon, soaking up all around me. I think, too, I knew back then that, "When in Rome, do as the Romans." Even if I was actually in Massachusetts, doing as the Southerners. To survive we must adapt. I realize, with respect to communication, this is what I have done. I'm me in all situations, and most people, whether at work, home, or socially, would agree that I'm loud, like attention, am (sorta?) funny, outgoing, and bossy. They'd tell you I step to the beat of a slightly off-beat drummer but that I usually mean well, I like helping people, and I enjoy communicating. (They will also tell you other bad things, but they c...