What's in a name

This is a sad excuse for a blog entry, but what with this week's events (a move to Salt Lake, and my parents' move to Jerusalem, and 15 cleaning checks to conduct and 20 contracts to get signed, and one pair of very tight compression hose), it's easy to feel a little overwhelmed.

The other day I was at Target, waiting in line to return something, when I started shamelessly eavesdropping on a conversation between an employee and a little lost boy. The boy, who looked about 6-years-old, only seemed mildly concerned about his parentless state. The employee tried to illicit some answers from the lad to enhance her loudspeaker announcement of "We have a lost boy wearing a blue shirt at Customer Service."

"Do you know your mom's name?"
"No."
"Do you remember what she was wearing?"
"No."

The employee assured him that his mother would probably show up soon, and then tried to turn his attention away from his predicament. She started questioning him about the packet of birthday invitations he held in his hand. Suddenly, having received some mysterious clue from thinking about his party, the boy's face lit up and he said, "Actually, my mom is waiting in the car for me."

The employee looked surprised at this revelation and asked, "Well, do you know what kind of car your mom drives?"

Without hesitation, the boy replied, "A silver Lexus."


If my children ever know what kind of car I drive, and can't remember my name, I'm quitting my day job.

But on the other hand, the next time I'm at an auto shop, and they ask for the year, make, and model of my car, instead of hanging my head and mumbling, "Uh...it's the green one with the carseats parked right over there..." I'll say proudly, "I don't know, but my mom's name is Linda."