I’m a hundred percent in love with my job right now.

For dinner, the girl made pancakes all by herself for the very first time.

They turned out quite well.

She made three kinds: plain, blueberry and chocolate chip.

Clover waited patiently for his pancake.

He knows when there are pancakes, he will get one. He knows this so well that anytime he sees us using The Pan, he will sit and wait.

And wait.

I certainly don’t have Morgan Spurlock’s fortitude or ability to spend 30 Days living in other people’s shoes, but sometimes I like to learn and imagine.

I was talking to a friend today who knows a few local women who have full time personal assistants and/or butlers. It’s fun to imagine that life. I’m not sure I’d like to live it, though; the management of such a large estate with so many social responsibilities sounds very high pressure and so very visible. Plus, when one has that kind of affluence, I imagine everyone wants a bit of it; it would be difficult to manage that part of it, too.

By contrast, I was part of a group that interviewed two men in our community who happen to be homeless. Of course, in no way do I want to experience that life. Imagining it and listening to their experiences and daily challenges is interesting, though, and serves a purpose. It’s important for us to keep in mind how people in our community at both ends of the spectrum live as a vehicle to understanding one another and making this place a better place for everyone to live.

In other shoe news, it’s official: my ten-year-old daughter and I now wear the same size. I’m hiding my Italian leather boots.

It’s been a hell of a week so far. We’ve had a stomach virus that attacked all of us at different times. Monday featured an emergency dentist visit enhanced by a baby tooth extraction (the girl’s; she’s fine). Wednesday included a visit to the eye doc (Hi Murph, sorry it wasn’t you, 800 miles is a bit far for an eye exam) to get the girl’s Rx adjusted (too strong; who knew?). I’ve been attacked by unfounded anxiety with side dishes of insomnia and freaky dreams. Even though it’s only Thursday, I’m wiped out!

It’s nothing, though compared to the pressure the boy is starting to feel. As an 11th grader in springtime, SATs, ACTs, GPAs and assorted other scary acronyms are daily topics.

My happy thought? Glad I’m not in high school!

He said, “How come you never wear stuff like that to bed?” indicating the short gown with delicate straps adorning the woman on TV. “All you ever wear is shorts and tee shirts.”

So I thought about it.

I could improve the night-time wardrobe, I suppose. There’s no reason to look like a slob, or wear 10-year-old nightshirts, tee shirts scored as conference or vendor swag and knit shorts that will never see the outdoors. Seriously; what if there were a fire? I’d be humiliated (and yes, that’s what I worry about.)

Options:

This is lovely, and by Vera Wang. At $195 it’s worth more than the combined total of everything I’ve ever considered pajamas. I’ll bet it’s comfortable, though, and I’m all about comfort.

I’m not big on wearing white, in fact, I never wear white. Red is my color. This is a possibility.

I wouldn’t even wear this at the nursing home when I’m a great-granny. It’s made even less appealing by the headless mannequin.

I don’t know. This doesn’t really look comfortable to me. I do want sleep wear.

Apparently, lots of celebrities wear these. Cute, but maybe a little too little-girly for me.

I may regret this later, but what do you think?

This is not a Greg-friendly post. Skedaddle.

Thus far, my favorite, all-time feminine charitable call to action.

Thanks to Jessica, for pointing it out.

After spending an evening in Charlottesville with a group of homeless women and over the weekend, sharing the library periodicals section with a homeless man getting some much needed rest, the homeless issue is top of mind. The experience with the women reminded me that no matter how far down the path she is, a woman still wants to feel clean, cared for and beautiful. The man who napped across from me in the library was dressed in layers of old clothes, his skin chapped and darkened from exposure. Yet he had a meticulously groomed gentleman’s thin moustache. I could see through his clear shopping bag a disposable razor.

Help someone feel a little better about themselves today.

Stranger than Fiction
Was a literary treat
Hoffman! Nice surprise.

I was puzzling over the tendency I’ve had to refer to this film by the name of another, For Your Consideration. I’ve done it in my head and embarrassingly out loud now, more than once, without even realizing I’m saying it.

Suddenly, I know why. It’s because I’m a writer and for writers of fiction (stranger than or otherwise normal) the most frightening part (for me, anyway) is the construction of the Query Letter, and what phrase do I connect with this process, it’s pain, suffering and bloodshed (paper cuts?) . . .  for your consideration. Yep.

By the way, neither one a horror flick; comedies, rather. I haven’t seen For Your Consideration and at this rate, why bother, it will only confuse me further. It’s yet another of those Christopher Guest (Nigel Tufnel, “this one goes to 11″)films that are funny, but really, I think I’ve had enough.

Finally, this film, Stranger than Fiction, earns the Greg Seal of Approval and Thumbs Up as a Non Chick Flick. Really. Even though there are a few nude men in it, in, as I explained to the girl, a totally nonsexual context as they are in a locker room, in the background showering. Quite normal, actually.

Why is it that when I’m influenced by British voices I write with a British accent? Emma Thompson is a delight as the anguished blocked writer Karen Eiffel. Her quirky habit of snuffing half smoked cigarettes in spit-dampened tissues made me love her all the more.

Finally, I must mention that I’m ever so proud of my parents who have at last become Netflix users! Brilliant, folks!

Cheerio!

Now, you either love them or hate them, those Geico commercials featuring cavemen living in a modern world. For me, they never fail to give me a chuckle, or a the very least, a smile.

But this? This could be very good news.

What’s that? You don’t LIKE the cavemen? You think they’re STUPID? Well . . .

I’m not a hundred percent in love with your tone right now.

In Virginia, the news today includes a story about our governor signing into law a bill that will require sixth grade girls to be vaccinated against the virus that causes cervical cancer. Human papilloma virus (HPV) is sexually transmitted and it is this fact that makes people get all weird about this topic.

In case you’re one of the people flinching at this news, allow me to break it down further for you: it will help protect your daughter from cancer that could kill her. Simple enough?

My daughter is a fourth grader. When I first heard about the vaccine called Gardasil I made a mental note to ask her pediatrician about starting the series. I still have a few reservations, however and will reasonably delay the vaccination for another two years, hoping that more results will be available, ensuring this is a safe vaccination with no serious side effects.

The issue people are all wigged out about is the fact that the HPV virus is sexually transmitted, arguing that providing young girls this vaccine gives them the incorrect message that it’s OK or worse, safe to become sexually active. I’m not naive enough to believe my hopes and wishes for my daughter are enough to protect her. If there were a vaccine for HIV I’d be signing up for that as well. But a virus that leads to cancer? One we can avoid? Is this really a question?

I do still have some issues, however. The vaccination series is three shots at $150 each. I do not know what insurance will cover. My first thought on reading about Gov. Kaine signing off on this law was, Who’s going to pay for it? Who is going to make sure the underprivileged girls get vaccinated? Who is going to make sure they go not for one, but three successive doctor visits? Will Medicaid pick up this tab for those eligible? If it’s a law, doesn’t someone have to cover the cost for all? I think about the teenaged girls and young single women in their twenties and thirties — what about them? Do they qualify for the vaccine?

I applaud the media relations campaign surrounding this issue. The “One Less” campaign is getting some attention and hopefully will continue to provide information parents need in simple, easy to understand terms. It does a good job of explaining what the vaccine is, and is not; what it will, and will not prevent. Parents should also remember to share this information with their daughters so it’s clear to them why they’re getting this series of shots, and from what it is designed to protect them.

A member of our extended family has cervical cancer. She is young and unmarried. She will not be able to have children. It is a tragedy that with today’s advancements, could have been avoided.

I know what I want for my daughter. I also know what I don’t.

It was fantastic, if you must know. The girl rocked the house as the midday Sacajawea (her dad objected to my previous reference) and was the most animated, enthusiastic chorus member ever in the evening show. I was all sniffly proud, of course. She went for the laughs at the right times and did a lovely job with her solo. What’s next, we wonder. Today the elementary school kids were tempted by future opportunities in an assembly with the middle school drama club, chorus and jazz band.

Extra points for the boy who sat through the whole thing with nary a snicker.

Major bonus points for my company senior vp who graciously endured the show, sitting between me and the boy on a tiny plastic chair, clapping and gushing, and even asking the girl to sign her program. I’ve gotta lotta nerve, don’t I?