Mason and I went to the Chinese buffet down the street today - yummy! While we were eating, we noticed the placemats talked about the "year" you were born according to the Chinese calendar, and I realized I didn't even know what my animal was. I was born in 1977 - the year of - wait for it -the snake! Seriously, if anything could have been more wrong for me, I can't imagine what it is. I hate snakes. I hate snakes more than anything else in the world. I will not walk through the reptile house at the zoo and Richard has learned to warn me as soon as possible if a snake is on television or in a movie. The few times I have had to endure a snake encounter of any kind, I have woken up in the middle of the night screaming from a nightmare about snakes. In fact, Richard will never let me forget the night I woke him up in middle of the night, screaming that there were snakes under the bed and made him look under it with a flashlight before going back to sleep. Yep, I hate snakes. The idea that I was born in the year of the snake is ludacris to me. However, I hope there is something to this whole Chinese calendar thing, because according to it, my children are perfectly compatible with each other. Mason was born in the year of the dragon, Connor was born in the year of the monkey, and Reagan was born in the year of the rat. Supposedly, those three symbols are more compatible with each other than any others on the calendar. I envision many years to come with them loving each other and supporting each other through thick and then. But, then I remember that this is the same calendar that puts me in alignment with snakes and I think, "Nah, probably not going to happen!"
Along similar lines, guess what Cera killed in the backyard this afternoon - you guessed it, a snake! And guess what I, the wonderful mother that I am, did? I sent the 10 year old into the backyard to help her of course. No way I'm going anywhere near a snake. But I am pretty sure Richard will have some interesting stories to share about my dreams tonight!
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