Day 8 of the 500 words a day/30 day experiment @kale&cigarettes
Got up after a satisfying and sufficient slumber. Straight to pee and get a cup of crack; I mean coffee. In a half sleep I can make it perfectly, three quarters warm almond milk and the rest, good strong espresso. Not too hot, I like to chug the first cup really quickly. Feels like home typing away on my Mac and having my first cup o’morning sunshine.
House is quiet. I can hear the distant hum of the passing cars and at this time of the morning the sound of the little ones getting to school across the street is in the background.
Before and now after settling in on my favorite writing spot, on the bench at the dining room table, I’ve attempted to wake up my teenaged son for school. I’ve pulled back the covers, tapped him and a few times since them, yelled out his name and “You’re gonna be late! Get up!” He’s finally up but dragging ass to school. He better not think of asking me to drive him. He can walk the 2 and a half blocks. He seems to think that Mom at home means Mom at his disposal. Nah, kid. Mom’s writing now.
Cue whining kid! Guilt trip. “Mooooooooooooooom, I hurt my ankle again last night. Please, give me a ride!!” Here come the puppy dog caramel-colored brown eyes. Ugh! I’ll feel like a bad Mom all day if I don’t. Fuck! Mom of the year award goes to me. Getting up and taking him now.
I’m back, what a sucker I am at times. Kids know how to get ya, straight for the heart they go. They reach in with their bare hands and twist and tug and squeeze and you’re theirs. Or they wave their Jedi hand in front of your face and suddenly you’re at their mercy. Skilled little shits! They only get better at it with age, trust.
At least I don’t have to wrestle with mother’s guilt all day. There’s nothing like mother’s guilt. I still get it from my own Mom but nowadays we both laugh it off. Living on opposite coasts we see each other about once a year. Possibly, twice. We mainly have phone chats Monday through Friday. If a day or two is missed then she may answer my call with, “I haven’t talked to you in years,” or “I tried to call but I just can’t get your schedule straight,” or “I didn’t want to bother you. I know you’re busy.”
She’s a funny one, that lady. I just brush those off instead of getting annoyed these days and just laugh or agree, “I know it’s been a million years.” It used to get to me. I felt like a bad daughter for not calling my Mom more often. But, I need our daily chats just as much as she does. Mom is unconditional love. I’m grateful that I have someone that I can talk openly with that knows me inside and out and never judges me. We’ve come a long way. We have a history. She’s still a spring chicken I tell her having had me when she was young. We’ve been through a lot together and we tease each other and have our own inappropriate inside jokes. It’s a unique and special grown ass woman relationship. She doesn’t treat me like a kid and I don’t treat her like an old lady. Unless she starts with the guilt trips and I remind her, “Listen here you old bag, who do you think is gonna take care of you when you’re old? You better be nice to me or else I’m sticking you in one of those places.” She cracks up and turns to my Dad and says, “Elder abuse! You have to hear what I’m dealing with here!”
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