The Battle Hymn of the Irish Tiger Mother

Amy Chua and my mom were, despite appearances and birth date discrepancies, separated at birth.

I won't say this post is utterly pointless, as I have two main topics I wish to address here. They are, however, vapid points at best. Nevertheless. it's late and I'm still awake, which is the perfect storm in terms of creating posts of a more vapid nature than is usual even from me.

Punto Numero Uno of this post is that DNA analyses can lie or can err. I read The Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother. I don't care if ancestry.com or 23DNA or whoever processed my mom's DNA  indicated that my mother is 68% Irish, 20% from Great Britain, 10% Scandinavian, and 2% Caucasus.  Somewhere in her DNA, blood, and everything that might make her who she is lies a whopping amount of Chinese. If you haven't read the book, you don't exactly get what I'm talking about. If you have read it, my mother is more like Amy Chua than any Chinese mother I know, and I know more than a few.

Punto [it's not a swear word, by the way; puta is the swear word; punto merely means point)]  Numero Dos of this post is that there is a reason I cannot sleep well in an over-sized bed. I'm hyperactive by nature, and often I'm restless when I retire to bed even though I'm tired. If I'm in the above-the-garage apartment in the queen-sized bed, I involuntarily deal with my excess energy by rolling from one side of the bed to the other and back until I eventually conk out mid-cycle. There's sufficient room for me to comfortably rotate three-hundred-sixty degrees laterally on each roll. If I'm in a twin-sized bed, the holy-roller maneuver isn't an option. I just move my legs a bit until I fall asleep, which usually happens much more quickly, and also doesn't cause anyone who happens to be in the garage either to fear that there's an earthquake or to wonder if someone is having wild sex in the above-the-garage apartment. I should only be so lucky.

Good night, anyone who is unlucky enough to still be awake.