Well you know that it's going to be all right. . .

. . . when we go shopping. (BNL)

While HMP has had philosophical conversations with his father, I have been shopping with my mother, resulting in a new skirt, sweater, beanie, and two pairs of black flats. This is how we bond. I tried mentioning poetry the second day I was home. Apparently it gives her a headache.

I'm trying to describe this without sounding snobby. I have found that my parents have absolutely no problem touting my applications to grad school--to the point that the entire law firm knew and Mary Anne (the founding partner) shouted across the room during introductions, "And where is Sarah applying, Larry?" which allowed my dad an extra two minutes of bragging time about all of his children--Sven is pre-med and pre-mission, Lauren has been accepted for a Mexico sociology program, Seth is a singing sensation, and Maryn is the best of all worlds. Have I said this before? I think we all just keep reminding ourselves how wonderful we are.

Anyway, they enjoy talking about my going to grad school, but if I attempt to bring up why I'm going to grad school, they can't quite handle it. I excitedly announced to my mother that I had a new project--meaning a new poetry project--and she immediately launched into her favorite lecture about how I'm wearing myself out with all the things I'm involved in and I don't really have time to take on a new project. I tried to explain that it was a writing project, but I wasn't given that many words to defend myself. All this on the way to the car on our way to the stores.