Perspective, Courtesy of Goose Poop (or the Lack Thereof)

I was waiting at the bus stop Friday after my nieces and Daughter-Only had been picked up--waiting for Cranky Boss Lady who picks me up every morning even though I would just as soon walk and could invariably get to work earlier (on time!) if I did walk, but that's another whiny story for another whiny day, but while I was waiting a pair of geese flew just fifteen feet over my head. They were bickering in their honking way--probably because she wanted to stop and ask for directions and he kept insisting he wasn't lost so why should he stop?! Anyway, for the few seconds they were directly over my head, I was absolutely certain one of them was going to let loose on my head and I knew exactly the extent to which that would ruin my day. For those seconds, I harbored images of dumping boiling water on my head to rid myself of the ick factor as much as to remove any lingering bacteria. Not only is goose poop poop, it's big gigantic poop, slimy and green with chunks in it. Oh, goose poop is just soooo wrong.

But the important point turns out to be not goose poop but the extent to which I borrow trouble on a regular basis, the habit I have of worrying about things that never happen. Granted, I didn't expend more than a few seconds worth of energy on the goose poop possibilities, but it was a reminder to me of how often I do waste minutes, hours, days worrying about things that never really happen. I think some worry is good and necessary--it helps us prepare and avoid disaster and all that, but there's got to be some way to strike a healthy balance. I, of course, have no idea how to strike that balance, and if anyone does, please feel free to let me know. You can usually find me under my blankets in a quivering mass freaking out over eventualities that will never come to pass.

On a lighter note, when Son-Two was six or seven, a bird actually did poop on him, not on his head, but on his leg. He came running in the house and said, in front of company, "Mom, a bird shat on my leg!"

Now, it's fairly easy for me to figure out where he might've picked up a word like "shit" because well, you know, the occasional four-letter word has slipped out of my mouth over the years. But, to this day, I have no idea where he picked up the little-used past tense of a swear word. I do know it was adorable and hysterically funny to everyone assembled.

And, though I might have worried that such arcane knowledge (and the willingness to use it in public) would doom Son-Two to being a friendless loner--just for a few minutes, mind you--that has so far not come to pass.