Suppose the me from 1987 could visit the present-day me here, right now (look, I know it's ridiculous, but bear with me), what would I (the younger I) think as I watched the older me, on all fours, sniffing my bed, trying to figure out if that funny smell was caused by a leaking diaper? What would I think as I watched the older me at the computer, with my toddler perched on my back with her arms wrapped around my throat? What would I think as I listened to this stranger say things such as, "Leave Mommy alone now." "Go to bed." "I've told you not to tease your sister."
Would I be filled with admiration to see this adult me, this person responsible for the lives of 6 young ones, holding and tending to and disciplining the next generation? Or would I be thinking, instead, "Shoot me now...please"?
Yes, I have time to sit around wondering things like this. Don't you?
Larry worked on the kitchen floor again today. Isn't that a surprise? So I had to take the kids out to dinner. (Lunch was easy - they had donuts after the noon Mass at church. And juice. Juice is healthy, right?) Anyway, as we walked into the burger joint this evening, what should be playing on the Muzak but the very words, "I don't want to live like a refugee..." I hear you, Tom. I hear you.
All the music at that place is 80's pop songs; I briefly considered telling Anna, "I used to dance to this music all around the dishroom of my college cafeteria." You know - just to bother her. Because it's true. I was young once, dammit. And what would I think if I could go back and visit that younger self? I'd think, "Keep dancing, baby. Keep dancing."