Yesterday I forwarded a shipping confirmation to my husband, just to shore up the odds against me forgetting to be home for a very special delivery.
He texted me back: is this about bugs or snakes?
And I was all: in the history of this world I wonder if any husband has ever had occasion to ask such a question of his wife?
But I'm pretty sure the significance was lost on him, dear reader. I don't think he paused for a moment of silence to let the moment sink in as it properly deserved.
He may have had a moment of silence. But it wasn't for that.
I'm not sure how much longer I can keep getting away with this, dear reader. I'm not sure how much longer I can keep posting pictures of fish before someone sends me a mean text demanding a return to the elevated standard of content for which Tollipop is so renowned.
As a matter of fact, yesterday I received a notification someone had unsubscribed from my blog. That happens every now and then, fair enough, though I couldn't help but wonder if it had anything to do with the fact I made reference to coyote poop.
Here's the thing about me: I have no desire to shock. I have no desire to offend...to the contrary. I'm not the kind of impish girl who seeks occasion to say words which will make you choke on your cookie or sputter in your tea.
But I did grow up running with the wolves, dear reader. Running with the wolves and reading Jane Austen. So I'm a bit of a study in contrasts when it comes to that: prim and proper, yet roundly able to discuss feral droppings if the situation calls upon me to do so.
This time, for my dear little Sophie.
Two weeks ago, her club volleyball season ended and I lost no time in requesting her to practice the piano half an hour every day.
She gave me that scathing look teenagers invented which says: Don't you know I'm 15 going on 30??
So I came back with one designed by the Pentagon which says: Honey, I've got 30 beat by a mile.
At any rate, she complied, a bit grudgingly at first, but before long practicing well over half an hour without even realizing it.
However, this week volleyball practice started back up and I felt sad, thinking this would mean the end of Sophie's time at the piano. In fairness to her, the practices are grueling and schoolwork is demanding...she is a very busy girl.
So imagine my reaction the other day when I returned from an afternoon errand to hear the sounds of a Chopin nocturne floating through the house!
Sophie was home from volleyball practice and had gone straight to the piano, plunking herself down and churning through miles of Hanon, unlocking the intricacies of Bach, crashing down upon octaves of Gottschalk, Joplin, and Beethoven.