The Cat

I thought it was better. I just missed the signs. The bulimia is raging. She's just gotten better about hiding her tracks. I bought a new bottle of Resolve, thinking that would handle the occasional upset tummy. But this really is a sickness. She wakes me up in the middle of the night, crying for fresh food. God forbid if she can see the bottom of her bowl.

She walks around my head and starts licking sensitive areas (like my armpit) with her sandpaper tongue. Or my face. With the same tongue she's just used to lick her butthole. No wonder her breath stinks. I'm gonna get some dread disease, I'm sure. Then she started scratching last night. Fuck. Even though she doesn't go outside, I'm supposed to treat her for fleas. I'm down to the last little vial. It's a major ordeal when it's time for me to squirt the harmless little bit of medicine on the back of her neck. She digs her claws into my thigh. Runs and hides for a day or two. Until The D starts his version of Cat Baby Talk. It makes me ill.

The bulimia's bad enough. She also has pica. Which means she has cravings for non-food items. Like wood. The unglazed porcelain under the toilet tank. My forearm.

Fuck. I have two piles of vomit to clean up and she's lying on my sham licking herself all over like some kinda porn star. I guess they do that. She seems into pleasuring herself, anyway.

I hope I'll wake up in a better mood tomorrow. As always, it's dicey.

I Just Don't Know

I thought I was ok. Deb came. The D was great. I had some sweet interactions with Kiddo.

Then Deb brought Daddy home from their visit to the cemetery. I was so proud of the flowers I'd arranged. I thought the little arrangement would provide comfort. But Deb refused to take them home. I didn't see that coming. She was so close to Mother. And she's had some trials in her maternal role lately. I suppose her method of coping kicked in. Denial. If you ignore it, it'll go away.

She's the baby. I'm a big believer in the influence of birth order on personality. Deb's a classic baby. So sweet to her mother. I think babies never outgrow that role of the youngest and cutest. They love to be taken care of. There's no sense of independence. The fucked up middle child gets displaced and has to fend for herself. Particularly when there's an evil, bitch-from-hell, controlling and manipulative older sister.

The middle child seeks approval. No one notices her. They're all about the cute baby. Deb was a little blonde cherub. I vividly remember this scene. We were in the front yard when she was about four years old, which would make me seven. Bikinis had just made it to the masses. Mother had gotten her one. Daddy was there with the polaroid. Carefully timing the exposure. She was a star. So cute.

I've never in my life worn a bikini. There's the whole body dysmorphic thing. I've come a long way with that, but still, I'll never shine like that sweet, adorable, innocent, precious little sister. Maybe it's a good thing I was a late bloomer. Not sure I've really bloomed yet. And my sweet baby sister has all but given up on her dreams. It pains me to think about the things she says, but I'm not sure I wouldn't feel the same way if I'd been dealt the very unlucky cards she's had.

Deb wound up paying a price for her beauty. I had to make it on my personality and brains. You know what it means when a guy says a girl has a "great personality." She's butt ugly but she'll do in a pinch.

Guess what. I'm glad I never got the kind of attention my pretty little sister did. It was a wolf in sheep's clothing.

Mother

Deb came by a little while ago to take The D to lunch and to the cemetery. She bought flowers. Pink carnations, pink roses and baby's breath. I asked her if I could have a few of them. After all, they'll just wilt on the grave. I took 2/3 of them, hoping I didn't seem irreverant to her or The D. I wasn't up to going, so I stood in the driveway and waved goodbye. I headed to the kitchen with the flowers I'd kept. Miraculously found my ribbon stash. Decided to use 2 milk glass vases and an old milk bottle - Mother collected them. I cut and arranged with abandon. One for Deb (with the most flowers), one for The D, and a simple, single rose for me.

I'm happy with the results. I hope Deb and The D will be, too.

It's been a sweet day with Kiddo. He made a Mother's day card for me. Signed it Debbie. Because, for some strange reason, when I'm around them both, I call get their names mixed up. It's a Daddler thing, I suppose.

I ran a mile or so and stopped by the playground for a quick swing. Tried monkey bars but abandoned it after the first rung.

Saw neighbors in their yard taking pictures. It's a thing I do to ask if they want everyone in the picture. They were delighted. I told them we were neighbors. Very sweet.

They were in their Sunday Best and I was all sweaty in obscenely short and tight running shorts. Only thing I could come up with. Oh, well.

Got home and Kiddo was up. He wanted me to ride with him. Teach him how to drive a stick. I think I'll let him take my Subaru to college this fall. AWD and antilock breaks give me comfort. That means I'll be stuck in the minivan. The sacrifices...

He was terrible in first. Damn, I think I got whiplash. Bless his heart. It's kinda tough. We drove up to the GreenLine and there was a cop at the crossing. Kiddo stalled out about 5 times and I explained that he was learning. No arrests ensued.

So here I sit. Deb has the D. Kiddo's practicing the stick shift. And I'm blogging. And trying not to miss mother. Or dude.

Can't wait to give Deb her little bouquet of roses and carnations. And put a vase by The D's bed. And a simple rose by mine.

I think I'll head to the shower. I'm feeling sweaty and gross.

Hope your M-Day is wonderful. Mine could be lot worse...

Carol's Guide to Giving

In honor of mothers everywhere, I thought I'd take this opportunity to enlighten those of us with Y chromosomes about what women really want. As far as gifts go, anyway.

My inspiration for this post is something that happened yesterday. Mr. Man called and I asked him if he'd sent something to his mom. He hadn't. I offered my personal shopping services. The photo printer I'd bought for his dad's birthday was a big hit. Also, I suggested he buy flowers to take to his mom after I picked him up at the airport. Big hit. You get the idea.

So last night, I asked him what I should take to Mama. He said not to worry about it. Get this... He made a donation to the Humane Society. I know he meant well, but I don't get the feeling his mother is into animals. She's all about flowers and gardening. He, however, is a loving Daddler to his dogs. A Doggler. Draw your own conclusions about the donation.

Before I launch into my tirade, let me make it perfectly clear that I'm a very charitable person. I used to give 10% of my income to charity back before private school tuition. Don't think I'm THAT generous though. I was baptist then and had to listen to endless sermons (spurred by church budget shortfalls) about Stewardship. Tithing. So I tried my best to make it a priority. I should also admit that I saw it as investment. Not in the milk of human kindness, but rather in future returns. See, there's this bible verse: Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you. Luke 6:38 Back then, I drank the baptist Kool-Aid and I really thought I'd get more back than I gave. I guess that kinda negates the whole thing.

These days, I don't support the baptists (except as instructed by The D when we go to his church). I have other causes I support. St. Jude Children's Hospital is a favorite. When friends are going on mission trips, I donate toward their expenses. I give memorials and honorariums. Donate some of my fees back to my nonprofit clients. And some odds and ends like public television (I really just wanted the tote bag to impress people), but forgot to ask for it. Enough already. I think I've proved my point.

Now. Here goes. My philosophy. I want stuff. Don't go donatin' money in my honor. When I die, feel free. I won't be around to open the packages. But I'm not dead yet.

I prefer my gifts to be wrapped in boxes, not thrown in a gift bag. I understand, however, extenuating circumstances. Like being in the throes of a move and not able to find the wrapping paper. It doesn't have to be fancy. I like getting gifts wrapped in the funny papers. I felt bad that I had to throw Papa J's photo printer into a bag. The biggest one I had. It was emblazened with a portrait of Santa. And when I gave Dude his belated birthday gift, It wasn't wrapped at all. But straight men don't care about that stuff. I'm getting off topic again. Back to the actual gifts.

They don't have to be on the actual day. I took my little sis clearance flowers the day after Valentine's. She gave me hell about it, but I still thought it was sweet of me. Especially since I usually don't give her anything for that particular holiday. Since I never get it together for Christmas and I will NOT go to the mall after Thanksgiving, if I think of something and I can get it on Amazon, it's on time. Otherwise, I'm still celebrating Christmas with my friends in March. As an aside, once I left my tree up until March (tax season was particularly bad that year), until my mother couldn't stand it anymore and came over while I was at work one day and put it in the attic for me.

I've blogged before about how hard it is for me to wait to give someone a perfect gift. So I give it the first chance I get. Birthday or not. I took Angela a couple of fun gifts a week or two before Christmas. A leopard print Santa hat with gold sequins. So very Angela. Plus, she needed it to wear during the holidays.

Back to my primer. I like to get real, tangible presents, but it doesn't bother me one bit if I just get a sweet card with a personal inscription. My favorite Mother's Day gift ever is a drawing Kiddo made for me. It had several pictures of the things we did together. Like bedtime reading. Throwing the whiffle ball. It makes me tear up just thinking about it. While going through Mother's things, I found a card my brother had drawn for her when he was a kid. It was an acrostic using the letters in the word Mother. I didn't just tear up. I boo-hoo'd. I still miss him. I also found a letter Mother had folded and put in her bible. From me. Christmas 1995. I'd had a really hard time that year. I didn't have the energy to shop. At all. Just for Kiddo. So I wrote her a letter telling her how much she meant to me. It was full of raw emotion. I'd forgotten all about it. It looked like she'd read it many times. Wow. I'm so glad I gave her that instead of one more nightgown or bottle of perfume.

It doesn't matter how much things cost. It really is the thought that counts. Something that really is personal and shows that it was chosen with me in mind. I used to get irritated when my former husband would give me the same thing every birthday or holiday. A box of Godiva chocolates (I never ate them, but Kiddo did), and a gift set from Bath & Body Works. I told him not to buy Godiva (so overpriced), but he still did it. He always went shopping at the last minute. So instead of having family time on Christmas eve, he was at the mall, with half the other men in Memphis.

I also love to receive things that are handmade. Because that represents the precious gift of time. These are the things I will remember and keep forever. Or just asking me to do something together. Dinner. A movie. A trip to the zoo. Again, the time thing.

I have the memory of Dory, the blue tang with short-term memory loss in Finding Nemo. But I have an uncanny ability to remember who gave me things. Which is why I'm going to spend some time purging my life of gifts from people I'd rather not remember often. Things that remind me of painful emotions. Anything at all from the evil bitch-from-hell former sister. Not that she ever gave me anything meaningful. She's a major skinflint. I need to pack up all the family pictures of her and ship them. I'm surprised she hasn't demanded them by now.

Now, what NOT to give. Gift cards. I lose them. Anything with an electrical cord. Unless it's a new hybrid car. Overpriced anything. Devotional books. How many God's Promises books does one person need? And I can't regift because A) they're always inscribed with a personal message, and B) I'd probably screw up and give it to the one who gave it to me. My well-meaning friends are probably trying to nudge me about my lapsed religious status.

So, back to FF and his lame gift. Sorry Dude, but I call it like I see it. I think I'll stop by for a visit to Future Fantasy Mother-in-Law tomorrow and take her a nice pot of half-priced hydrangeas. Something she can plant in her yard and enjoy every year. And I'll tell her the gift is from her sweet son. Hey, maybe I'll even get one of those "From the two of us" cards. No, it's way too soon for that kinda commitment. It'll just be from him.

One last thing. I have a birthday with a zero coming up at the end of July. Mark your calendars. DO NOT plan a surprise party. Angela and my mother tried to pull that off when I turned 40, but I headed them off at the pass and got the heck outta dodge. Spent it at the beach. Mother loved to give surprise parties. Like my 16th. It made me blush when they'd say "Sweet 16 and neve been kissed." Because it was true.

The D's 70th birthday party. Only problem was that he found out. Don't remember, but I probably slipped. I'm horrible about that. The really funny thing, though, was the exaggerated look of surprise on his face when he walked in and we all shouted "Surprise!". He really chewed the scenery.

He'll be 80 in July, so I think I'll plan a little get-together for him, but I could never pull off a surprise party. Besides, he has the pacemaker and he's kinda jumpy. It would be just my luck that he'd have a myocardial infarction (so much more fun to say than heart attack).

I hope this helps. I AM a woman and a mother, after all. And I'm happy to have Kiddo here for this year's holiday. Especially since I know I'll be missing my mother desperately. We'll go to lunch with The Daddler and stop by Mother's grave with flowers. Maybe carnations. She always loved those.

I'm Exhausted.

But happy. Kiddo's home 30 minutes and we're back in adversarial mode. He's heading out. Wants a house key. We picked up din @ Pei Wei plus groceries he wants. The D turned his nose up at Shrimp Fried Rice, but somehow I won him over. He was hungry, I'm sure...

Better go give Kiddo the key. Head to enchanted airie. And not worry. I'm glad he's so independent. Imagine that...

I Love Him...

Whoa. What a difference a year makes. Kiddo loves the Good House. He's all grown up. We're heading to Kroger to get rotisserie chicken and Dos Equis. And whatever else the wunderkind wants. The D is beside himself. So am I. Kiddo's dad is so good, in spite of our differences. I'm so very glad we parted on good terms.

There's something about a mother-son relationship. I see FF with his mom. They're so close. Not that it's obvious. I'm intuitive. And I know them both so well. She likes me because he seems happy with me. He makes me happy. So what's not to love?

Gotta run. Kiddo's just about unpacked. And I'm feeling like a mother hen. As much as I miss my mother, I think this'll be a mother's day to remember.

Singing in the Rain

My girl Jo texted me early this morning to suggest a walk on the GreenLine. Perfect. I've decided I should get my workout in the morning - lately, I'm a morning person. The sun was shining when we headed out. Then it got overcast. Started sprinkling. We went all the way to Shelby Farms so Thimble Bladder could hit the loo. Luckily, I asked the man there for a plastic bag for my beloved phone. He set off on a search and I saw some vinyl gloves sitting right in front of me. I told him I'd just use that. Besides looking like a weirdo for jogging with a bright blue thing with fingers, it was a perfect solution. I was a Girl Scout, I'm proud to say.

Lemme cut to the chase. The drizzle turned into a downpour. We got wet. Really wet. But there was no lightning and we made it back. Sang some rain-themed songs on the way. Like Raindrops Keep Fallin' on my Head. Laughter in the Rain. And of course, the title song. Jo tried a little tap dance. We skipped a little. Somehow, Say a Little Prayer popped up. Nothing to do with rain. Great scene from My Best Friend's Wedding, though. Changed into dry clothes and went to brunch at Half Shell. A great morning all around.

JoJo's at the Griz game - THE place to be this afternoon. I'm anxiously awaiting Kiddo's arrival. The D is beside himself. Pacing around the house.

Much more to tell, but I'm gonna put the final touches on his room. Damn, I haven't been this excited to see someone in... two weeks! When I picked up FF from the airport. Excited in a different way, of course. Both ways, it's great.

Lots more later...