Girl says she wants to a chef when she grows up, but lately she’s been showing signs of another profession. Yesterday afternoon I needed a power nap. Girl comes into my room and thrusts of piece of notebook paper on my prone body. It reads: “You get me some food. And you can work or sleep.” It has a line for my signature.

This morning I’m cleaning the clutter on the dining room table and I find this note: “I can wach movis. And you can wach icarly iny time you want to.” Then a line for Boy’s signature.

Thankfully these notes are handwritten and not made from clipped out letters from magazines or newspapers. So she’s not practicing to be a kidnapper. No, my baby is showing the signs of a budding young lawyer. May God have mercy on our souls.

Remember back in high school when people were elected most likely to do stuff? I was not elected most likely to succeed, and now I’m not likely to remember who was most likely. (Once a friend got mad at me and voted me Most Likely to be Wrong.) By now my high school friends and I have become the people we were most likely to be. Except for one thing. One of them just got a goat.

This friend lives in a very nice suburb in Fort Worth. Her husband is a doctor. If in high school we had to vote on who was Most Likely to Own a Goat, it would not have been she. And if my friends were to vote now on who is Most Likely to Own a Goat, they would pick me. Because they know Bob. Besides, there are chickens, cows, horses and a baby buffalo in this neighborhood already.

My friend emails me a photo of the goat, a very cute animal with a white body and a brown face. She also includes the words “de-worm” and “diarrhea” in her email. This is clearly not her idea. This is her daughter’s 4-H project.

We should have voted my friend Mostly Likely to be a Kick-ass Mom.

I have been shot 35 years into the future. I walk with a slight stoop. I knit. I watch musicals in the daytime. I am overly aware of bodily functions. I eat oatmeal for breakfast and soup for lunch. I drive 10 miles under the speed limit. Hanky panky is a fond memory.

These weeks of recovery are a preview of old age. The world is smaller, simpler and slower. Scary thing is, I don’t mind it that much. Because when I return to my own time (recovery is like aging in reverse, a la Benjamin Button) it’s back to commuting and meetings, fluorescent lights and high heels. I’ll miss the quiet of the house, the stillness of these days.

Apparently my children have added a few new words to the English language.

This one is from Girl:

bu-cept [buh-sept] -conjunction: combination of the words “except” and “but:” I was going to fold clothes bucept I got too tired.

And here’s one from Boy:

wull [wuhl] – interjection: Whiny form of the word “well,” usually followed by an excuse: Wull, you didn’t tell me to bring in the garbage cans, so I forgot.