Some Warmth amid the Cold

It was the mother of all rotten drives home tonight. The snow hit out of nowhere, and the roads got greasy beyond all expectations. Even the tailgaters backed off. And the huge Mac trucks crawled along, trying to stay in their lane. There's nothing more fun than wondering if the mac truck coming toward you is completely in control or not.

And I should have felt absolutely horrible. But, you know, I've been nursing a very happy little secret for a couple of days, and it has really helped to colour the bleak world around me.

And what is that secret, you ask? You'll never guess. Okay, I'll tell you. This week, completely out of the blue, I received a couple of very special emails. And they came from someone I never expected in a million years to be emailing me. And who do you think it was?

Sanjaya's mother!!!

And I am touched beyond words at the kindness she has shown toward my Spilly. The child has been on a bender ever since. And so have I, feeling like I'm in the twilight zone. I really can honestly say I never expected to be typing, "So how's Sanjaya doing these days?" and to be receiving an answer...

Spilly is particularly delighted at the fact that "Sanjaya's Mommy" mentioned she would like to hear Spilly sing. Spills' immediate can-do response was, "Then let's make a recording for her RIGHT AWAY."

"Maybe later," I said.

A lot later.

Emoting from the Tub

You know when you laugh so hard that your stomach hurts and you find yourself bending over sideways trying to hold it in, because you know you can't let on that you find anything funny--because it's not supposed to be funny? It's that laughing-in-church thing.

Anyway, we have spent the last hour listening to Spilly roaring her signature tune, "I don't know how to MAKE MY PARENTS LOVE ME." It has gone through a lot of incarnations, with many soulful gradations of emotion, new verses, heart-stopping climaxes, whispered afterthoughts, etc.

And I was just invited in: "MOMMY, THERE'S A CONCERT! COME ON!"

There she was standing up in the tub (and yes, we've since had a serious talk about how you don't do that) with her stretchy rubber squid stretched around her little torso, the squid holding a washcloth in place that hung down like a little sundress. And she was in full headbanger rocker chick mode.

"What are you going to sing?" I asked.

"A song about Terry Fox, written by Sanjaya Malakar."

"Oh!" I said, surprised, having expected the signature tune. "Great! Take it away."

(And this is where I need to clarify that Spilly thinks the world of Terry Fox, worries about him, and frequently asks questions about him. Her song was most definitely a tribute to him, and I hope it wouldn't be construed as making fun of him in any way.)

She put her little head back, put the imaginary microphone to her mouth, and bellowed at the top of her lungs.

"And he hopped and he hopped around CAAA-NAAAA-DAAAA...."

I had to leave the bathroom. And out in the hall was my hubby, already doubled over.