Eric, home for the weekend in order to avoid dealing with the bat in his apartment in Madison, looks at his mother as she's about to go out on an afternoon errand.  Said in a voice in which astonishment was very nearly not detectable:

Mom, you're a hipster.

Jean, tonight, on AIM, after a completely normal--really!--conversation:

...sure328: Mummy, you are a genuine nutbar.

 

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and from far away I've heard the sounds of my remotely based children turning homewards.  They'll both sleep here tonight.

I'm lifted by anticipation of having all of us in the same house for the first time since August, and I've been preparing the house to receive them back.  The house seems to have forgotten that it used to house six instead of four and I'm helping it with it's fears of inadequacy with new towels and opened up spaces that will become un-opened up in the best possible way.

In all of this anticipating and preparing, I seem to have forgotten to buy the food for the feast.  I'd better go and take care of that little detail.

Wednesday before Thanksgiving:  a day of happy busy-ness.