Of Very Little Importance in the Grand Scheme of Things

Son (age 5): Next Purim, I'm going to be Voldemort and I'm going to kill Harry Potter's family, chas v'shalom.

Ensuing train of thought: Am I really such a failure as a parent? I didn't think it would show up so soon. At least he said chas v'shalom; on the other hand, highly doubt he knows what it means. To the good, this shows ability to follow narrative and retain details. Last Chanukah he said he was going to be King Antiochos. Is this normal? Is the term "normal" ever applicable in the context of 5-year-old children? Recall, myself, at this age, ardently yearning to be a detective, in a village, with many cows.

Train of thought abruptly derailed by Daughter's (age 6.5) announcement that She is going to be a Lawyer because they Write and Argue lots.

In the grocery store, am confronted by kids' day camp director in grey robe and tichel, who stares at my business suit and says I Look Nice and Am I going to a Wedding? I say, No, I am returning from Court, whereupon she screams and says, Oh no, what Happened?! I give my usual reply of: Nothing - to me. Am thus reminded of morbidly buzzard-like quality of my profits deriving from the misfortunes of others, but console myself with the mostly accurately thought that, without me, those misfortunes would probably be Much Worse.

Upon my return home, pick up ringing telephone, only to hear one of Our Community Members ask for Husband, in rather lowered voice suggesting a wish for Discreet Medical Consultation. Inform him that Husband is in Hospital. He gasps and says, Oh no, what Happened. Wearily reply that Nothing - to him. Wonder why doctors, though similarly situated in respect to morbidness of profession, always come off as so much more noble and altruistic than lawyers.

Several eons later, all children firmly ensconced in their beds (so I thought - it was subsequently revealed that one child, in fact, had been firmly ensconced on the floor, lying, naturally, on my pillow - but I digress), derived wholly irrational enjoyment from viewing the third Die Hard. As I told Husband later, I do like a movie featuring a) NYC b) subways c) floods - even really minor ones.

The 9 Days

Have spent significant portion of evening complaining to M. that lack of music was making my life Hell. Realize this is, indeed, the point, and, in that spirit, experience surge of hope that Moshiach will really arrive tomorrow. Spend rest of evening pondering whether the music I like will still be allowed. (Have concealed from enthusiastic guests of circa 2 Shabbosim ago that home-made challa was produced to the accompaniment of Black Sabbath, as they seem the sort to think I should have been thinking mystical and uplifting thoughts instead.)