Someone recently posited that every missing sock is being replaced by an extra Tupperware lid ... I’m still thinking elves are responsible.

Anyone who knows me knows that I love football.  I love football in general and the New England Patriots in particular.  The 2012 schedule of games is taped to the side of a small bureau that faces the recliner in which I sit to watch the games, all the better to keep track of exact dates, times, and stations where said games will be found.   I own a Tedy Bruschi football jersey that literally comes down to my knees but was the only size available when I finally had enough cash in hand to make a purchase.  And I cannot tell a lie, in spite of my recent promise to myself not to add to my t-shirt collection (at least not for a while anyway) I couldn’t resist the gray Patriots shirts on sale at Job Lot last week…

I had recently commented on the fact that the reality of motherhood is a far cry for the idealized version that most of us tend to carry around in our heads before real life intrudes and teaches us differently. It seems that the other side of the coin…how our children see us as parents and their perceptions of their own upbringing…may be similarly flawed. I discovered this last week when I went out to lunch with three of my children.

Ballet has always fascinated me. I can’t remember when the fascination began, but neither can I recall a time when it wasn’t there.  The only thing that I am sure of is that it certainly wasn’t a result of having been exposed to it during my formative years.

The clock had sat on the mantle in my mother’s living room since shortly after my grandmother’s death in 1964, and although she had initially said she had never really cared for it, its very pretty, ornate styling fit in well with the rest of her décor.  Truth of the matter is, she only took the clock for my sake. I had been fascinated with it since I first noticed it and learned its history back in 1955 when I was thirteen years old.