Visiting With Grown Children

As you read this, I am sipping a Bloody Mary, with my seat reclined, trying to ignore the idiot next to me, attempting to read one of several magazines I've been hoarding to catch-up on, with my bags checked (I don't do overhead clusterf#*k stowage), at 35,000 feet above sea level, moving at approximately 500 mph- which is about 50mph slower then I usually move.
 
The sun is out above the clouds and does indeed rise in the East- just like I told it to.
 
I am reminded of good mothers the world over as I view Mother Earth from nye above the din.
 
Our ability to multi-task:
 
"Just stay still while I put pressure on it, Chase. Both you and the stuffed chicken."
 
The way in which we are able to translate:
 
"So by ,"What the What?", Chase, you mean you disagree. I see. Too bad."
 
The cradle of nurturing we possess:
 
"Stupid mistakes are for stupid people. Are you stupid, Chase? I didn't think so."
 
The wealth of our knowledge:
 
"If the party gets busted just remember to take the path along the tracks. It always worked for me."
 
The depth of our compassion:
 
"Well, yes. I think that's an excellent idea. Furthering one's education, expanding one's life experience, and being allowed the luxury of another 4 years to mature has never been a good idea. Just ask the garbage man."
 
So, it is with great delight that I am on my way to visit with one of the fruits of my loins, in the Big Apple, with a penthouse view.
 
Because Mommy likes the penthouse.
 
And children who can read between the lines.
 
I'm on my way Chase!
 
 
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