Signs

Are you old enough to remember that song by the Five Man Electrical Band:  “Signs, signs, everywhere a sign? …”

Our youngest likes to make signs and write notes, which we find periodically in various places around the house.  Most recently, I walked into the kitchen to find a hand-scribbled note on the countertop:  DO NOT TOUCH it pleaded in big, bold letters.  Beside it was the body of a Breyer gelding, its broken leg surgically repaired thanks to modern adhesive science.

A couple of weeks earlier, one of her class assignments involved making a sign as part of a graphics unit in Computer Technology.  She was proud to bring that one home and display it on the refrigerator door:  “Help Wanted: My Sister Has Issues.” 

Then there is the note I discovered not long ago as I was headed out of town for a series of meetings.  I kept it in my briefcase and re-discovered it again the other day.  It made me all warm and misty-eyed initially and it does every time I read it:

I’m funny and I’m weird.  That is an assessment I can certainly live with.  And the first time I read the “sooooo” I actually thought it was 500,000.  Half a million reasons!  Wow!

I’ve got at least half a million right back at you, darling, ‘cause you’re funny and weird, too.  I love you.