Worst child ever

This is seriously, genuinely an email I sent my parents last night.

Background: they live about five hours from the floods in Colorado, and it has taken me several days of awful news of intense weather-related devastation quite far from them for me to get off my butt and write.

Observe why I am the least likely adult child to be adopted anytime soon:

“It is customary to call one’s parents to profess concern about their safety and well-being when there is massive flooding hundreds of miles away.

But I’m a callous bastard who only calls if the flooding is, at minimum, in a neighboring county. So I  hope you’re not too soggy, I hope you’ll call if you’re in need or danger or dire straits.

We’re fine, we’re busy, we’re hale and hearty. And even though we’re callous bastards, we hope you’re all of the above, too.

Thinking of you, but not worried, because I’ve taken geography and am not dumb and also have The Googles, which tells me your last flood warning was July 31 of this year. I sincerely hope those mid-summer waters have subsided.

Considerately yours,

Your most bastard-y of your two rat-bastard children”

See what can happen if you parent your children reasonably well? What an ingrate. I submit the above as evidence that you should hire a sitter and run off to a tropical island, because your kids may never even email to see if you’re alive next time there’s flooding hundreds of miles away. And if they do, they might sass you.

Sheesh. Kids these days.

Sweetest sounds

I’m taking a poll in my house (unfortunately I’ve only been asking one person, but now that I have you, the pool might expand a bit…)

Which is the sweetest sound:

a) Early morning, birds singing, cats stretching; the bedroom door across the hall opens. Tiny feet pat softly into the bathroom. Lid goes quietly up, and moments later a faint tinkling means the first battle of the day won’t be one. You can hear the sound of your own back cracking as you stretch, sigh, and wait for the feet to continue their journey to you.

b) The din from the next room distracts you, makes you anxious, bodes poorly for your ability to blink much. You’re pretty sure there won’t be a nap. There’s been banging and crashing and yelling and singing and self-negotiating going on in the bedroom ’round the corner as you sprint to check email, write a blog post, proofread an article, find the best price online on organic crackers, and upload pictures so you can make a picture-filled Mother’s Day gift for the five women in your kids’ lives. Suddenly you realize it’s *still* in the other room. Not calm before the storm still, but blissfully, restoratively quiet. Options expand before you and the shoulders you have come to believe are glued to your ears drop, silently, effortlessly to their rightful place atop your clavicle.

c) Large feet stomp out of the room. Drawers slam, a door is swung wildly on its hinges, then all stops. There is a pause. The same feet walk, slowly, placed carefully one before the other until they are quite near you. A gentle voice, disarming in its difference from the hollering nasty voice of moments before, asks, “Please tell me you’re not blogging this.”

As my college roommate purred, “can’t we have both?” Or all three? Do we have to vote for just one?

You’re welcome to add your own favorite sounds. Please do. I’d love to hear them (or, more realistically, read your description of them. Because I ain’t coming to your house to listen to you uncork your favorite bottle of “help me get through to bedtime”. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care.)