Fly, Little Bird!

Last night Spouse and YG took off for NYC, where YG will catch the camp bus to Vermont on Friday morning. YG is, most of the time, the world's most confident, friendly kid, but the last week or so the terrors set in, and she's been wobbly and demanding and anxious. Last night SG and I walked them to the BART to catch a train to SFO, and YG broke down at the turnstile. This morning, arrived in NY and about to go out for pizza at John's Pizzeria (the best place in NY for pizza) with an old friend, she was more sanguine. This evening she's wobbly again. I suspect she'll be a wreck until the bus pulls away, and then she'll be grand. Because she is a grand kid, and she's going to have a swell time. That's my story, at least. And my hope.

Meanwhile, the hand is healing well, as near as I can tell. Took my first post-surgery shower this morning, with my hand wrapped in Saran Wrap and a plastic bag, and am feeling far better. Stopped taking painkillers this morning because there wasn't much more than the occasional twinge to kill. Trying to remember to keep arm raised, and mostly doing so.

And, oh happiness, SG seems to like her biology class. Her teacher sounds like a cheery, reasonable person who feels it is her job to help the kids understand the material, not mold them into tiny lockstep marchers. This bodes well, as does the kid's resolve to get an A in the class so that she can spit in the eye of her bio teacher from last year (who was much more of a lockstep sort).