The Moving Needle ... Right?

At 12:07 this morning, my youngest daughter Erica asked me to fetch a needle and thread. I knew she didn't want me to sew on a button because she's in Tennessee and I'm in South Carolina ... we were talking by phone, you understand. I had spoken with her earlier in the day ... twice actually, so I was somewhat surprised when my cell phone lit up and the screen indicated the caller's identity. I was still up and working at my computer, as was TG. But I'll bet you'd like to know why she wanted me to get a needle and thread! Okay ... I'll tell you. Mercy! You're more impatient than she was!

Erica ... was positively giddy by this time, clearly having stayed up too late and likely having consumed too much sugar and needing sleep ... or perhaps sedation.

Seems Erica had been talking with a friend who succeeded admirably in raising her (clearly very susceptible) consciousness to an old wives' tale/generational-prediction method wherein a person (male or female) dangles a needle over their outstretched arm in the vicinity of the wrist and waits to see what it "does." This will supposedly reveal to you the number(s) and gender(s) of your offspring, real or imagined. See, whether said spawn exist does not seem to matter; in this way you can determine important facts about the dependents you already claim (in case for some strange reason you are unsure), those in the gestational stage, and those who are destined to be born in the future. Just sort of an all-purpose tool.

(There's bound to be an infomercial out there somewhere for this ... $19.95 for your handy portable foolproof child-o-meter with no working parts that might break, and if you call in the next ten minutes you get two for that price ... child-o-meters, that is, not actual children ... plus $4.95 shipping and handling. For a needle and thread that's a steep price to pay, I know ... but this is a concept, y'all.)

Obediently I found a needle already threaded (this was a total fluke as I would rather chew shrapnel than perform the tedious activity known as sewing) and dangled it over my outstretched wrist. It wobbled some as I went still ... then it stopped moving ... then it began moving again. Erica told me to watch closely (what in the sam hill else would I be doing?). If the needle went in a "circle" it meant my first child was (or would be) a girl. I won't say the needle actually went in a circle but it tried to, and Erica said this "counted" as a circle. Luckily my first child was/is a girl, as both Erica and I know.

Shortly the needle slowed, then stopped. "Just wait! Don't move!" was Erica's directive. Bristling ever so slightly at the role reversal (don't I, as the parent, get to give the orders?), I complied and, sure enough, several seconds later the needle began moving in a "circle" again. It did this a total of three times (I am happy to report it did not scratch the names "Stephanie" "Audrey" and "Erica" on my arm ... that would be a little weird) before moving in a "straight line" in the direction of my extended arm. In case you were wondering, that indicates a boy ... Andrew, in my case.

How wonderful it was to finally know the number of children I had, and their genders! This has plagued me for years! It was the "not knowing" that has kept me awake so many nights. This is how I ribbed Erica, who was positively giddy by this time, clearly having stayed up too late and likely having consumed too much sugar and needing sleep ... or perhaps sedation.

"So, how many children are you going to have, and what will they be?" I inquired of my single daughter. (I need adequate lead time to prepare for these important events.)

"Nine," she said, seemingly unfazed by the enormity of that number.

The wonders of modern science! I am continually amazed. I'm off to Wal-Mart to buy nine sleepers (four blue, five pink), nine rattles, and nine gender-specific congratulatory cards. Maybe I'll buy a few extra needles too ... you never know when the grandmother of eleven (I already have two) might need to sew on a button.