I am almost 49.  My siblings are a little older.  And not a Nobel Prize among us.

My mother is in Heaven right now having to explain to the mothers of Nobel Laureates why her children have yet to earn one.  Mom is confident that we will come through for her.

Sidebar: Ok, “confident” is maybe too strong a word.  Maybe, it is more like, “she will love us no matter what accolades we fail to earn.”

SOB called to check in with my medical condition (I am fine; the flu is almost gone).  We had more important things to discuss — why haven’t we gotten a Nobel prize?  A mother’s pride is at stake here.  And we are not getting any younger.

And, not only that, I figured out that we really earned them.  (Ok, a joint prize.)

There is, of course, a little back story.

The same parents who created Mom also created her brother.  He is our recessive genes on display — a cautionary tale, to be sure.  And he is not an aberration.  My maternal grandfather’s entire family charted its own evolutionary course. (Mom’s brother has some wonderful qualities, I promise, but he lives like a caveman.)

SOB and I did not have biological children.  Ergo, we saved the world. 

Sidebar:  BOB has two wonderful children; WOBOB is the one to be celebrated for that happy turn of events.

SOB, I bought two tickets.  We are going First Class.