Day 22: What happened to your face?

Today was an efficient day. The day started out very well. I had to make it down the hill before the town closed down the only road that leads to civilation for repaving. I swam my laps downhill, went to the library to read about how Wall Street better come to terms with the new reality. After filling my car up and running a few errands that all moms have to run, I hop into a Prius to head to Palo Alto. Six grown women with enough degrees combined to cause indigestion enjoy a fun-filled lunch and then move on for a foot massage, from which we emerge with major bed head and tranquility. On the way back, I continue my philosophical conversation with my soul mate. We debate whether musicians are skilled workers, while painters are intellectuals. Today's ultimate question is: If you knew you would not be here (as in, alive on planet Earth) for long, what are the three things you would wish for your loved ones to have. As I pontificate, I freeze mid-sentence. I lose my train of thought. My friend looks sympathetic in between yawns and getting us killed weaving erratically through traffic. My friend, the gorgeous tells me, "One day I was me, the next day I was middle-aged.". I beg to differ. One day I was me, today I am still me, only less self-conscious.

I arrive home and start cooking my wonder meal for the family- believe it or not, I am actually pretty good at cooking. My son #3 comes to the kitchen to chat with me. All my intellectual conversations and sophistication drain. I feel my heart skip a beat. My baby looks just like Quasimodo! Allegedly, a kid (I KNOW WHO YOU ARE) jumped on Maxime "by accident", at which point, my poor son's right side of the face met the asphalt and voila! I am now all Asura and engulfed in rage. All his siblings file into the dining room and I hear, "What happened to your face?!", one after another. Just for fun, I take a mug shot of him. I am known for my high tolerance for outrageousness. However, I must make it clear that I am a sorceress in training, and there are consequences for pouncing on a sorceress' son.