Scott called me yesterday as he arrived at work in Bartlesville.  He was walking from his car to the door of the building.

"Mom," he told me.  "I don't know if I've ever told you this, but all of my life I have never stepped on a crack that I know of.  I'm really careful to step over every one of them, because I don't want to break your back."

He's in his mid 50's, and said he's been stepping over cracks all of his life because he didn't want my back to be hurt!  Who knew.

Only Scott.  Most children would discard a childhood ditty, outgrow it, and never think of it again.  "Step on a crack, break your mother's back."  Not Scott.  Here he is, a grown man, going from his car to the building where he works, and watching his feet so that he won't step on a crack.

I don't know how things get stuck in our minds and become habits.  I shared with you that I wash my hands every time I touch something in the kitchen.  And brush my teeth every (every) time  I eat something.

I don't think my back is going to be broken if Scott steps on a crack, but I do know his habit of avoiding them all of these years means that I am in his mind.  I know he loves me.

That feels good.

I've got great teeth.

I've got clean hands.

Scott loves me.  What more could a mother want.