Looking forward to a day of strapping on my wrist braces and grippy gloves to haul some ungainly pieces of furniture out to the garage. With the son's help, naturally. He also gets to mow the lawn. He is not particularly cheerful about this day's activities. I say to him, it's all about pacing and being careful and avoiding injury. If I'm not whining, you don't get to either. He replies, there is no transitive property of whining. I give him the mom-look. He has had his rant, I have given a scolding. It's so odd how we understand each other. Mother and son détente has been achieved early today.
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