I am Irish, which by heritage, according to my mother, means I am
genetically predisposed to believe in superstition.
I can tell you, with only a modicum of shame, that I don't walk under
ladders, I am careful when handling mirrors and always - ALWAYS - throw salt over my should should any spill unexpectedly from the shaker.
I've probably already mentioned it here somewhere, but I don't care,
I'll blame "mommy brain" for the repeatition. Shortly after Annabel was
born a bird somehow got into the house.
I was recovering from the abdominal surgery of a C-section, and was
laying on the couch with the kiwi, as we called her back then, when a
blur of gray and feathers flew past us.
My heart sank.
For those of you unaware of the omen: A bird in the house is a sign of a death. If a robin flies into a room through a window, death will shortly follow.
I can't really blame hormones for the panic that followed. I ran
(holding my steri-strips and all) to find Jed. I can't believe he
understood a word I was jammering about until he saw for himself the tiny starling that had made its way inside.
"We have to get this bird out of the house unharmed," I cried, desperate to back ourselves out of this very bad thing that had happened. I surmised that a bird in the house was one thing, and bad enough as it was, a dead bird in the house would be a thousand times worse.
Somehow, Jed managed to accomplish the task, telling me all the while not to panic.
So with that bit of background in mind I must ask why then, yesterday, did I allow a pink (breast cancer-fundraising no less) umbrella be opened and held overhead inside the kitchen? I mean is there a person alive who does not know that opening an umbrella inside the house means bad luck ... and worse luck if it's held over their head?
All I can guess is I must be slipping, or perhaps my horizons are opening up or my blood is being thinned of its celtic origins by the delight of a toddler unencumbered as yet by such tales.
As she danced around the kitchen island swirling the pastel-colored bumpershoot, I paid no attention. It was Jed who took it away and told her that there would be none of that indoors.
So outside we went, she and I, for a walk in the rain to test out the new umbrella.
As luck would have it, It stopped raining.
THE YAYA REPORT
What's happening at the other mom's house ...
A telephonic transcript
"Hello, mom? (Holding the reciever to the back of her head) Mama? (a bit louder) ... two and three and purple and baby found sumpin' ... MAMA?!! you there?"
Lori tries to adjust the receiver so the earpiece is somewhere near her ear. ... she backs away, holds up her index finger and gives her a stern look.
"One minute, peas. ... Okay? Just one minute. ... OKAY?"
*** picture a little girl face all grown up.