Today I went to the post office with my son Noah.  He needed me to vouch for his identity so that he could get his passport.  He lost his old passport in the Galleria fire in October.  On the form I had to indicate what my relationship was to Noah.  I asked the nice woman assisting us if I could write that my relationship was “tortured parent” – she thought it wouldn’t be prudent.  She didn’t think that the federal government would appreciate my sense of humor.  Go figure.

After I vouched for my second-born’s identity I asked the lovely woman who was tolerating quite patiently the sarcastic banter between Noah and me if she needed anything else from me in particular as I had an appointment to get to.  She hesitatingly said, “I don’t think so.”  I told her should she need anything else Noah had my number and Noah said, “Yeah – 666.”

Yeah…give me back that form so I can scratch out mother and write tortured parent. 😉

Day six hundred and sixty-nine of the new forty – obla di obla da

Ms. C