Mothers' Day 2011

So I guess things are going to change now that I am 26.

One of the first conversations I had upon returning back to Pennsylvania for Mothers' Day this weekend went like this:
Me: Yeah I feel kind of old now that I am 26. I have never really cared about going up a year in life on May 3rd, and I still don't, but being 26 feels kind of old.
Older Sister: Yeah you're closer to 30 now.
Me: Than what, yesterday? Obviously. Why do you speak?
Mother: So I have children aged 28, 26, 24 yet no grandchildren, in-laws, or any prospect for either.
Me: Whatever, mother, this isn't 1979. Take it easy or I will make you a grandmother to an illegitimate child embroiled in a custody battle (because that thing will inevitably be cute as the dickens and fun so I will want it most of the time) with someone that you probably won't approve of because what kind of decent human being would let me impregnate them pre-marriage? So just take the grandmother wishes down a notch. Besides, you were 29 when you had your first child and, who knows, maybe Les is pregnant. (No chance. Her body is no bigger than the "I" within those quotes.)

Or something like that. But do you see where all the lady/baby talk comes from. Age.

But really I didn't have the heart to tell her that I have a marriage lined up. It's called law school and my future law career where I work 16 hours a day and hone in on something meaningful so as to feel as if I have a purpose in life/forget about the madness that is humanity in places other than where I am practicing.

In a related note, you know what else comes with the higher number as the answer to "how old are you"? Maturity.

Relevance:
Syria came up this weekend. It was said that the president is misunderstood and that it is just a few people that are unhappy with him. In a previous year in my life this would have triggered a rapid and stern rebuke probably containing the words 'you' and 'are' and 'an' and 'idiot.' But not this time. Granted, saying something like that about something like this (yes, sharpshooters were employed) is well deserving of being called an idiot. But I am older and more poised now, so I shrugged it off and picked a larger battle. Like finally going to the bar, which was not the casino for once. 26! 

Father once said to me that, if it were up to him, he would just drop a nuclear bomb on Afghanistan to ensure that any and all "terrorists" were killed, including Osamy. This all started because my younger sister is a real-life aspiring "army wife" and I said something like "we're spending something like $1 billion per suspected remaining member of al-Qaeda a year. If we redeployed all those soldiers over there chasing all 100 (actual number according to this article) of those "terrorists" and spent that money on something more productive like education either over there or here--or both, ideally--then maybe sister wouldn't romanticize a relationship with someone who literally signs a contract to kill people if asked." So when father asked if I was one of the ones down at the White House celebrating bin laden's death, I said "no" because I am all poised now not to fly off the handle and start arguing and wanting to avoid another statement of ignorance like feeling nuclear bombs are the answer to anything but a Jeopardy question to the answer of "this was dropped on Hiroshima in 1945," but was thinking "who celebrates a death? feeling relieved is one thing, but actively celebrating is another. believe me I understand the world just might be a better place, but that's millions spent hunting what was probably a figure head (and it seems we were surprised he was marginally more than that) that may or may not have been killed unarmed for the sake of saving the US money it would have had to spend on his trial."

Or maybe I didn't say anything because I knew I had this outlet on which I could vent. Sorry, I promise I did not have any intention of soap boxing to this extent, but I always end up writing much more than I anticipate. But I feel if I delete what I have written before reading over it again it's a waste of those digital letters already typed.

So father said Sunday that I was like the daughter he never had. We went to the grocery store (where I bought a razor for my face. Is that really something you want your daughter doing, father, shaving her face? I hope not!). Then to the bike store to buy a bike helmet because walking is hard and I ride a bike very similarly to how I drive a car, as described below. But it was closed. Then we went to the farmers' market because Hellertown is becoming a cool cat kind of town like that. At the grocery store father actively sought out people he knew to say hi. At the farmers' market I saw two people I knew and actively sought ways to make sure eye contact was not made so as to avoid small talk at all costs. Later a neighbor said the apple does not fall too far from the tree with he and I, which, physically, it does not because we look alike. But someone must have kicked the apple once it was on the ground. Maybe it was a groundhog.

Speaking of groundhogs:

So I drove back to DC yesterday.

I am on 83 going south. I see what I first think is like a leaf or some other inanimate object floating across the highway ahead. But it's moving too rhythmically to be inanimate. And I am going like 70. Then I'm like "O NO SQUIRREL. PLEASE MOVE SQUIRREL." But this is no squirrel. This is something much dumber. Then I am like "NO GROUNDHOG. MOVE GROUNDHOG." Somewhere around this time I calculate that I purchased insurance this time, which I never do. The jc must have seen something like this coming. I know there is a BMW in the left lane and I am in the right, swiftly approaching this groundhog that, for some reason, evolution felt sorry for and kept in the system (Although, I once saw a groundhog climb a tree after my old dog chased it through my back yard and it was either 'pull a feat a groundhog has never done before' or 'be gutted by wolf-dog, Rebel'. Then it plopped down off the branch it ran up on after I managed to lure Rebel back in the house and scurried away with heart problems thereafter, probably--only speculating.). Anyway, if I have a heart it cares much more about animals than probably my and other human beings' well-being because I blindly swerved out of my lane merely hoping the BMW was not so close that I dot the final 'i' in this perfect textbook case of "Anatomy of a Car Crash: 14 billionth edition." O and I was on the phone, too. But the big publisher upstairs was not having this textbook as the BMW passed without even a honk and at least I was not responsible for the groundhog's death. And as far as I could see no one behind me was either.

But, seriously, groundhog, wtf are you doing pitter-pattering across the highway like that, you adorable big ole dummy.

Anyway, I have always said this, and it explains my prerequisite to live in a place from here on out in life (until I am senile enough to not remember that I am a terrible driver) with adequate public transport: I should not be allowed to drive.