Tolerance

I learned a little lesson in tolerance this week. My parents came to visit a couple of days ago (and no, it's not what it seems, bear with me here), along with my daughter Alison and my good friends Ken and Joan and their extremely sweet and cute 11-week old son Walker. Which is to say, we had a pretty full driveway, and when I had to take my husband to the airport on Thursday morning, my parents' car was the only one that wasn't blocked. Which means that I had to drive a car with a "W '04" sticker in the window.

I wished I had remembered my funny nose/glasses/mustache disguise.

While I have learned to tolerate these foibles in my parents, I still find myself thinking unpleasant thoughts about other drivers of cars proclaiming their support for The Shrub. Now, I'll give those people the benefit of the doubt. I'll think, well, maybe they're just borrowing their parents' car.

And now that they're all gone, even the fleeting stomach virus that struck an unfortunate few of our full house, it's just my son and me. All of a sudden it seems very quiet. I tell myself that this means I'll be able to get lots of work done.