Public Roadway Planner

When I was a kid, my mom would communicate with no ambiguity that she disliked driving. I didn't understand, because I couldn't wait to start driving. I couldn't get enough of my cozy coupe. I longed for a Power Wheels. Driving a golf cart and a boat was the highlight of my twelfth summer. I literally dreamed - multiple times - of driving an actual automobile on an actual street. Now that I've been driving for nearly 20 years and sometimes have multiple car trips a day between myself and the kids, I do understand. There are laws regarding commuting - laws which you don't even realize are laws until you have some driving experience under your timing belt.

Laws such as:
If the speed limit increases, the sign will be visible to the driver behind you from 5 miles away.
If the speed limit decreases, the sign will be visible to no one but you at any time.
If you are in the left lane and traffic requires that you slow down to get into the right lane, your blinker will be ignored and you will be passed on the right repeatedly.
If your blinker is working, it will be ignored by all.
If your blinker is somehow not working, you will be honked at by all.
No other driver knows what hazard lights are for but you. Prepare to be honked at.
When you decide to run a yellow light, it will turn red faster.
When you decide to stop for a yellow light, three more cars will go through before it turns red.
Potholes only get filled on streets you take twice a year.
Upon driving through a slow construction zone, your bladder will immediately shrink to the size of a pinhead.
When you finally decide to take the route your husband swears is fastest, that is where the construction will be.

There are many more that I'm not able to think of at the moment, but give me a long enough commute and I'll be more than confident that I could plan the roadways better than these current jokers.

Older Sibling

Bug, my youngest, just began kindergarten. He's been in day care for a couple of years, but this is "real school." Big kid stuff. Not for the fainthearted. Daughter is in high school, so of course is very experienced in the matters of the schoolyard. Older siblings are supposed to guide the younger ones, I understand. I didn't have an older sibling, so I had to wing it growing up. I don't recall imparting much knowledge upon my younger siblings, either. But the other night at dinner, I got to witness it firsthand:
We are discussing school in general. I'm not paying too much attention to what exactly is being said until I hear, "...and if anyone tells you to hold onto your tongue and say 'apple', do NOT do it." Daughter says this in the way we tell him not to get in a car with a stranger; not to cross the street without an adult; not to eat anything he doesn't read the ingredients of - as if it will kill him. As if nothing in all 13 years of public schooling is more important.
"Why?" he asks. Of course he does, my curious boy. He asks why stars go supernova.
"Trust me. Just..." she trails off, shakes her head solemnly, and waves her hand, as if the thought of this occurring is too much to bear.
They're so cute. Daughter would kill me for saying that; she's way past the cute ages. I think it's such an adorable, sweet moment. I giggle. I suppose my mother had these moments, but I don't remember ever being such a helpful sibling.

Oral Surgeon (I've said this before)

September 4th, 2012, at approximately 1 second after the dentist's office closing, my tooth became a raging inferno of pain. I took ibuprofen, only to ask Husband less than an hour later WHERE THE HELL IS THE VICODIN?! PLEEEEAAAASE FOR THE LOVE OF ALL PETE'S SAKE DON'T TELL ME WE THREW IT OUT! ...but we had. of course.
I was near tears. I didn't finish dinner (not me). I was warm and sweaty, and my sub-zero basement felt good (also not me). I knew exactly which tooth, and all I could think about was how badly I wanted it gone. With the assistance of many anti-inflammatory pills and topical gel, I barely held out until the dentist opened. Luckily they could see me today. Also luckily, the tooth could be pulled today. I actually responded, "Yay," albeit not enthusiastically, since I was still in severe pain. Surprising I had a word, considering I suspect all my interactions so far had sounded thus:
"Hey! Good morning!"
"Ow."
"How are you?"
"Ouchie, ow owie."
"Do you have your TPS report ready for the meeting?"
"Owwwww. Ouch."
Actual words made me optimistic that I was on my road to recovery, with a lighter oral load.
A few minutes later, I was in the chair, weathering bouts of severe pain interspersed with slightly less severe pain, more anxious for Novocaine than I have ever been, and then finally - it happened. The injections hurt, sure, but sweet relief was on its way. I asked if he could put something against my cheek, since last time my cheek was pretty mangled and it hurt me worse than the empty tooth socket. He said, "I don't usually do that. Your cheek really shouldn't be involved." Music to my ears. The doctor then warned me that I'd feel pressure, and that was such an understatement that I barely held my composure. He asked if I was okay, and I sort of waved my hand to indicate "not really." The pressure stopped. The doctor poked at me with a couple more instruments, but there was no more pain. He and his assistant began to pull away.
"You got it?" I and my widened eyes asked.
"Yep."
"Thank goodness. It is such a relief."
I was so relieved that I didn't whine too much at the doctor trying to talk me into having my last (not quite erupted) wisdom tooth pulled as soon as possible. I'm certainly not looking forward to that one, but compared to the last time, I actually didn't hate this procedure. I didn't even hate the doctor.