"Margie"

If my name were Margie, I would be glad to have a song written about my name, I would be ok with it being this song. If that were the only thing to consider, I'd have to say that I'm very ok with my name *not* being 'Margie'. This song doesn't inspire a name change, to say the least.

It's weirdly exhausting to be a parent. Lately our daughter has seemed a little anxious about school, and we are insanely sensitive to her anxiety. We talk to her about what's going on, deliberately striking the balance between casual and concerned. We talk to her teacher. We talk to each other. We talk to her again, making suggestions. It's an education to realize that this went on with my parents as well: they considered me, discussed my life, made decisions about their own behavior relative to mine. I know that it was different for them, of course. They had five children to my one, and they were different people than my husband and I, but still, my life affected theirs in ways that I can only suspect now, as a parent myself. It's a bit creepy, really, and strangely touching all at the same time.

There really is no way to fully explain the adventures of growing older, at any stage. Like so many other things--pregnancy, birth, death, marriage--our experience will be entirely unique. We listen to other people, trying to extrapolate, but it never quite works. All the butterfly wing factors are different, by small and large bounds, and the outcome is ultimately unpredictable. I hold onto the thought that it still helps to know that someone else survived this: survived birth, growth, marriage, and death; surely I can do it as well.