Gone with the (whirl)wind!

My daughter Kelly has just left after a short, whirlwind visit, and I miss her already. She is heading back to San Diego, where I have not been since July- to the warm, breezy, ocean scented apartment that may or may not burn to the ground, depending on the direction of the Santa Ana winds in relation to the ubiquitous forest fires, or crumple to the ground in an earthquake, or drown in a tsunami. Despite all these dangers, and the ever present threat of drought, I could not convince her to stay in Tennessee. Back she goes. I’m thinking a tall, handsome someone had something to do with her leaving again.

While she was here, she touched base with her four nieces, two of whom were disappointingly blasé about her sudden reappearance. The youngest two gave her her propers, and Emily apparently recognized a kindred spirit. Kel and the Pookster bonded, and this with a child who is skittish- to put it mildly and kindly- around unfamiliar people. Kel and I babysat the human tornado yesterday, and it was a real treat to see the two of them interact.

Mama, of course, was jealous of the attention Kelly was getting. After months of wheedling, coercing and bribing Emily to play in her room, Mama was suddenly outraged and distraught when the baby climbed into her bed and cuddled up with one of her dolls. Any doubts that Mama and Emily are the same age evaporated in the melee that ensued.

Mama: That’s my bed.
Emily: No, it my bed.
Mama: Get out of my bed.
Emily: It MY bed.
Mama: Give me my doll.
Emily: It MY doll.
Mama: No it’s not.
Emily: Yes, it is.
Mama: I want my doll.
Emily: (to me) NeeNee, tell Busha it MY doll.
Mama: No it’s not. It’s my doll, and I want it.
Emily: NO!
Mama: Get out of my bed.
Reprise.

Imagine the volume increasing with each statement and you have a fair picture of the state of conversation in my home. Finally Kelly hopped into the bed with Emily and Mama left the room, muttering under her breath “It’s MY room. It’s MY doll.” The wisdom that comes with age… is apparently fictional.

Anyway, the lovely diversion that was my daughter’s visit is now over and I must put my nose back to the grind stone.

I wonder where that phrase comes from. Who would do such a thing, really? First of all, it would hurt, and second of all, what’s the point? Why would anyone want to grind their own nose? Maybe it comes from the days before plastic surgery. In any case, I have eight kazillion powerpoints to create, a test to write, a lab exercise to set up, and a trip to North Carolina to plan. I am attending my first ever South Eastern Region (SER) conference of the GFWC (General Federation of Women’s Clubs). I am looking forward to it and dreading it at the same time. Dr. Young has kindly agreed to proctor my test on November 9, and my students will be busy building models of DNA in lab, so I feel only moderately guilty about missing a day of classes to go. I am sure I will survive it.
Now, I must go get ready for church. We have having a Halloween party for the kids today... hope some kids show up!