Merry Christmas Forever

 

 

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What About Her?, photo manipulation, 2016 copyright GPD

 

 

DEAR MOTHER,

I think I caught that Aveno Flu from all the bird drippings on my car! And you may have too, god forbid! I still have my cough and if you are coughing, I expect you’ll be doing it for a few months. This, whatever it is, really hangs on. I wish we were together coughing our guts out like we used to do; remember how we always used to get sick together? Those are cherished memories for me- just you and me and blankie and Tweeter and Boss Hogg and Mr. Knuckles on the sofa watching all the Judge shows and yelling at each other and the TV. Dr. Plantar says she is seeing a lot of this and nothing seems to work, drug-wise. The only thing that seems to work, according to her, is “a cap in the dome,” whatever that means. Otherwise, she told me to just ride it out. Ride it out? Until I collapse my lung or die of exhaustion? This news was doubly unpleasant when delivered by a blast of breath that smelled like moth balls and cigars. Oh well. I’m just full of good news!!! Hope you got the stray-cat bullshit I sent. I laughed until I wet myself… just like Thomas’ 18 year old cat, Callie. Speaking of which, after visiting Thomas last New Year’s, I slaved for a whole month to get that awful smell out of my linen tablecloth and napkins!! I had to throw the damned things away. I don’t know why he would ever allow his cats on the table while we were eating, anyway. Thomas has always been eccentric. Next time. I’ll be bringing Bounty Paper towels and a drop cloth if he wants to have a formal dinner. He and his uptown friends will just have to deal with it. I tell you, I still ought to send him a bill! Oh well. Tell Bunky I’ve begun the “Mislaid in the Wilderness” section of the homemade scrap book I’m creating for him.  I find myself doing a lot of grumbling and cursing and sticking pins in his high school prom pictures because it looks like he’s having so much fun in them. Fun that I’m definitely NOT HAVING: NOT HAVING NOW… NOT HAVING THEN… NOT HAVING EVER! Sometimes I just want to eat asphalt. Oh well. Get well soon. Or at least stay sick until I come to visit so we can cough up a lung together for old times’ sake. You are my favorite mom. xoxoxoxoxoxox,

GB

 

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Dear GB,

Surprise…we had snow flurries yesterday. What did you have 2 feet!!!!?

I’m feeling better, but as you said this cough hangs on and on…. hope you have stopped cough-shitting your pedal pushers.

Got a cute picture of Lilly and Daisy and Lucifer…well sort of… if it weren’t for Lucifer’s ever present “lipstick” peeking out for God and everyone to admire. I tried to position the little dickens behind Lilly and Daisy, but you know what happens when he’s behind something that has a pulse. Just like a man! I think there has to be some surgery procedure to cure that, and after the holidays I’m going to take care of it once and for all with Dr. Mercer. I’ve had to look at it that little playboy’s indecent proposal for three years now, and I’m DONE. That cotton pickin’ thing is in my face (and Daisy’s behind!) so much that I’m seeing it in my sleep. I’ll mail you the pictures anyway. I’ll just use my lady BICK to scratch out the X-rated parts. Not much going on here. I’m with you: I just don’t feel like going out or breathing or talking or blinking or doing much of anything. I’m trying to get up enough energy to visit your sister, Carol Ann’s, to set her double wide on fire. She is so depressed that I feel obligated to help her move on to her last chance at happiness… at the right hand of the Lord. Let him deal with her sourpuss attitude! I worry about her. Sometimes I truly wonder if there’s a master plan in that Jewish carpenter’s Blueberry.

Well, I’d better get off now. Love Mother, Lilly and Daisy

P.S. I hope somebody shows you theirs real soon! 😉

 

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Mother,

We had flurries, too!! We still haven’t had our Indian summer yet, have we? I HAVE finally stopped coughing so it lasted only 25 weeks- not great but better than permanently damaged.

I can’t wait to see the picture of the dogs! I took one with me, Christian, Pepper and his new kitten- I hope it comes out. It seems that Christian is the only one who can sit still.  I am kind of nervous, however, because I haven’t seen the kitten since that day and I’m hoping some racoon hasn’t eaten it.

Are you sure you want to make that drive to Danville? I know you love riding that death trap Vespa and all, but… I’m sure Carol Ann is very, very down, but you have to think of your own health first.  Does she ever think about anyone else?  Me? Thomas? Lisa? Bunky? Casey? Never mind my bitterness. Do what you want to do. You always do anyway.

Christian has been working alone, late into the night, in his room. He’s got something new to dissolve in his special jars… it looks like a small, furry chicken. That little fellow! He’s my active little scientist… lol. But seriously, I worry that he’s not getting the proper rest appropriate for a growing boy.  Oh well. What are you going to do.

Next weekend I’m visiting Thomas for the weekend. Christian never goes out, prefers to divide his free time between the attic, bedroom, basement and wooded area (behind the house). So, I can just leave him here to look after Pepper and the kitten(?)-in the pantry I have two cases of Lunchables and 40 cans of sweetened condensed milk (he needs to put on weight). It’s all he ever wants to eat anyway. That should be more than enough to last him until I get back on Monday night. Really looking forward to seeing Thomas, though: he just got out of the health resort so I’m sure he’ll be in tip-top shape and ready to show me a good time! I wanted to see him before he’s off to San Francisco for Lord knows how long. It’ll be rats on a rotissiry and Kristle for the weekend for me!! Stay warm…

oxoxoxoxoxox, GB

 

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Dear G.B.,

What a beautiful, but very cold, day— Daisy hates this cold weather!!! That little old fart of a dog should be used to it by now.  I felt so sorry for her that I knitted her a coat of many colors out of dryer lint (but she doesn’t like that either). I have to admit that little coat was kind of tricky and I miscalcated the positioning of the arms so they are too close together and the neck hole’s too small. I had a really hard time pulling it over that cottony head of hers, but I thought the weave would naturally loosen up after she wore it long enough… you know, to break it in. After a very long struggle I finally got the stinkin thing on and I stood her up. The little darling looked like a bug-eyed tripod, standing there wheezing. It was difficult for her to walk in the confines of the sweater, so she just stood there frozen. I let her be for a while and went outside to blow leaves into Mr. Shupe’s yard (the bastard). I returned in hopes that the darn sweater would have conformed to poor Daisy’s form, but she remained standing in the same spot, gagging and gasping with those pitiful watery eyes while Lucifer was giving her the business. Needless to say, the cotton pickin’ thing never loosened. I almost popped her poor little head off trying to remove it. She’s such a patient, good dog. I love her so.

You have got to help me with gifts for the kids!!!!! If it’s clothes, give me the real sizes… none of that baggy stuff and none of that skinny crap that showcases all the produce in the basket! Growing parts need air! I want my grandchildren to wear clothes that fit because it looks smart and neat. I’m not giving them money this year because I don’t want them buying their first sniff of crystal muff or whatever you call it. After what happened to Bunky- who is so deranged, by the way, that I have to keep him zip-tied in the mud room most of the day AND WHAT A RACKET HE MAKES!- I vowed never to give my grandchildren one red cent to spend on sin again. They’ll just have to take the good old fashioned gifts grandma wants to give them. How about a stocking full of oranges? Whatever happened to giving notebook paper and a protractor? Something useful. Do they still make Lincoln Logs or Erection Sets? Maybe a 5000 piece puzzle of outer-space would keep them occupied? By golly now, I’m in the mood for shopping!!!! I’ll take the VW bus over to Family Dollar and do some shopping!!!

…Love Mother, Lilly and Daisy-Doo (Dare I add Lucifer too?)

 

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DEAR MOTHER,

I hope you’re feeling better, both physically and emotionally.

Our weather up here is warmer and we expect temps in the 60’s!! I love the greenhouse effect. I don’t see what the big deal is. I moved back from California banking on global warming to make Ohio more hospitable… and here we are!

Unfortunately everyone at Casey’s is sicker than usual, and she is on this wacky home remedy kick! I’m not sure what adding half a cup of bleach and a mess of crushed aspirin to their drinking water is supposed to accomplish, but you know her and there’s just no use in arguing. Every time I go over there I bring my own Diet Coke and keep my mouth shut. Her cooking leaves a lot to be desired, when she actually does it. Mostly she just orders delivery and pretends she cooked it (after placing it on those 70’s era red plastic dishes and gurnishing it with a sprig of whatever she can pull out of the yard! She fancies herself cultured). I suspect she’s putting her folky additives in everyone’s food and drink at this point. I keep plenty of Pepto Bismo and Epacac with me just in case.  She doesn’t fool me.

Had a good time with Thomas and his young friend Andy during my visit. As you know, Thomas just celebrated his 57th birthday. He looks pretty good for his age, but I’m convinced that having money helps you age well. You remember Andy don’t you? He graduated two years ago from Columbus Alternative High School and took Thomas on as a BIG BROTHER. Apparently you’re never too old to be one of those. They seem really close… even their 39 year age difference doesn’t seem to get in the way of their horsing around. Thomas is always riding around piggy back on Andy… they’re like over-stimulated juveniles. That Andy’s really filled into a handsome young man. It seems like he’s living there in Thomas’ one bedroom efficiency- even though neither of them admitted that was the case. He was there the entire time I stayed; I can’t believe it’s because he enjoys my company so much. I assume he’s housing Andy until he can get off his feet. But, Thomas is so cheap… I’m sure he could easily afford a luxury penthouse downtown. There isn’t much room at all in that cracker box for one person let alone two full grown men, and Andy has gotten pretty bulky: like a body-builder-big. I hope he’s not on those steeroids. He’s so soft spoken… I’m sure that once he gains confidence he’ll be a real lady killer. I wish he wouldn’t wear lip gloss, though. It looks kind of, well, funny. I felt bad taking over Andy’s “bed,” meaning the couch, on what turned out to be only an overnight visit. Andy’s so nice that it wasn’t an issue at all. He just slept in Thomas’ room. I used one of my own blankets and I thought that Thomas’ cat would go bannanas when she smelled dog on it, but she just sniffed, squatted on it and then ignored it. The ratty little bitch.  She did the same thing with a towel the new kitten slept on. Don’t tell Thomas, but I did not sleep well there. Between the “boys” wrestling and knocking around in the other room until all hours, the funny chemical smell and Callie crying and urinating in my suitcase after I knocked her off the couch (she kept crawling on my chest and laying down with her matted tail swishing and crusty little “o” twitching in my face), I got no rest.  Oh well.

Working on trying to finish Bunky’s scrap book before Thanksgiving. He’ll have to screw it together, but it looks pretty ok! My friend Donna gave me a Wilfred Brimly brand cocoon for you.  It kind of stinks so I’ll have to put it outside until I see you at Thanksgiving. Who is having the holiday dinner this year? Let me know so I can mentally prepare.

Stay healthy.

Xoxoxoxoxoxo, GB

 

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What About Him?, photo manipulation, 2016 copyright GPD

 

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Dear GB,

How you go on about Thomas!  Thomas this Thomas that.  I’ve told you before, your brother is dead to me.  Now shut up about him already. If I have to read one more utterance of his name I will start throwing your letters, unopened, directly into the rubbish for burning. Kapeesh?

I suppose goddamned Lisa is having Thanksgiving. I know Beth asked her if she wanted to change and have Christmas and then Beth would have Thanksgiving. But no! Lisa didn’t want to do that because she resents change and suggestions. Beth thought Xmas would suit Lisa more since she had small kids and a clingy, gassy, broke down husband etc etc… but I’m convinced she just wants to make us suffer through another strange meal with her “exotic twists” on traditional dishes. Speaking of bad cooking… Casey’s got nothing on Lisa! I’ll just die if I have to choke down another grey, boiled turkey stuffed with okra, candy corn and raisins or gag my way through creamed date and giblet au gratin. Oh well. If the cranberry sauce is canned, I at least hope she has the good sense to use an opener this time (instead of a screwdriver and a scratch awl) to avoid all those metal shavings. Maybe I’ll arrive a day early to guide her in the kitchen and just put up with her resentful passive aggressive behavior (and her husbands emissions).

So is Casey coming when things are decided????? Is she bringing her two… make that three whatchamacallits with her? If so, I’ll make sure to throw everything she cooks or puts her hands on out.

Unpredictable weather here. I took Daisy to Sharon Woods yesterday. I tied her leash to the back of the Vespa and rode over to the park with her running behind me… those tiny Multipoo legs were a blur trying to keep up, I tell you. I might have to get the Vespa into a shop… there’s a lot of blue smoke coming from the exhaust. Where would I take it to be fixed in town? Do you know? As I was saying, Sharon Woods is beautiful this time of year, even in the pouring rain, and I rode around that 2 and ½ mile trail I don’t know how many times! I guess I lost track thinking about the holidays which always make me a little giddy. Anyway, on the last time around I looked back to check on Daisy and through the smoke I saw that clever cutie on her side letting me pull her along through the woods… like she was a stunt ski-er… bless her soul. She ended up taking the path of least resistance… a lesson we could all learn from. One disadvantage of the Multipoo breed is they’re like little mops picking up all kinds of dirt, brambles, garbage and leaves. Well, poor Daisy was beat so I don’t think I’ll take her that far again. She’s been extra lethargic since then, lying on her side under the kitchen table. And yes… she’s still breathing worry wart! Breathing very slowly, but breathing nonetheless. I can hear you now. Old dogs need lots of TLC and rest. Let me hear from you…I was thinking of coming up this weekend but I lost the directions and Harper is having his show at the park…

Soo Love Mother—

 

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Mother,

Wanted to get back to you as soon as possible… SUCH A TYPICAL RESPONSE. Hopefully, when you’re on your death bed you won’t regret it all. But… it’s you we’re talking about and YOU WON’T. So whatever. Consider him officially deceased.

And by the way, how in the world am I supposed to know where to get a Vespa fixed in Lancaster? What am I, the internet? Directory assistance? Like a Vespa should even be a part of any REASONABLE ADULT’S life.

How many sets of directions have I given you? A dozen, at least!? I hardly think using them as doggy paper constitutes losing them.  So anyway, you really don’t want to come up this weekend… and even if you do, I don’t want you to. One of the smallest reasons is it’s Michigan vs. OSU here and the town will be a drunken fustercluck of flaming rubbish and decorated pigs in jerseys. Another bigger reason (still not the biggest) is the last time you visited it took a month for Pepper to stop accidenting on the carpet. Mom… I’ll have to insist that, if you ever come here again, you NOT feed her AT ALL! Especially human food (when I’m away at work… you know better). Raw eggs, Hormel chili and canned crab meat… REALLY? Why would you ever think that’s a good idea? I saw all those empty cans in the trash, and I wondered why we were going through eggs like Kardashians go through Zovirax! I don’t mean to complain but Good Lord! So we’ll just see you Thanksgiving eve, but Casey isn’t coming. I told her what you said about our brother (not mentioning his name). She isn’t very happy with you now, but she’ll be more than ready to make the trip to confront you at Xmas- so brace yourself and make sure you bring your little radio with the ear phones and a few personal cans of Fresh Linen Lysol!! You must be feeling better to ride that junky, motorized hazard of Dad’s over 100 miles to Gretchen’s flop house. I bet you look really cute riding on it- how do you keep your wig in place? With a babushka? Temple Glue? Have your teeth ever fallen out when you stopped too fast? I go to the doctor on Wednesday to see how I am doing down there. What an embarrassment. Oh well. I’m trying to finish up my holiday preparations, but the blisters are really putting a crimp in my Xmas shopping. I tire out too easily! Christian is doing well in school… just needs more socializing practice, but is still way ahead in biology and chemistry! He loves dissecting things and keeps his little treasures in a brainy little display on his night stand. It’s not my cup of tea, but I am proud of his ingenuity. He talks about wanting to get into mortuary science and I think that’s exactly what he should do. He’s fond of soaking dead things in some sort of acid and by the end of the week there’s nothing but foam and particles left to whatever it was. I’m not sure what he does with it after that, probably flushes the whole business down the commode. As long as it keeps him busy. That and the burn marks that show up on everything he touches. Oh well. By the way, he really needs flame retardant clothing for Xmas (hint hint). Polyester and acrylic melt too easily. I don’t really understand or like any of his science-y stuff, especially the stench when he opens his bedroom door (it’s almost worse than pooch-processed crab meat, chili and raw eggs). But he’s the Brainyack in the family and… as you told me all the time… smarts ain’t me. Oh well.  Bunky’s book will be finished by Xmas. I can’t wait for him to see it, but I may be dead by then.

Over it.

GB

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Dear GB,

I was talking about coming down last weekend not this coming one…… I repeat LAST WEEKEND NOT THIS COMING ONE!!! GOT IT?!?! Jeesh! Douche out your eye sockets and file the deposits off that so called brain. And, for your information, my helmet keeps my wig in place. Now, when I go to take my helmet off there are, as you might imagine, problems, so I tend to leave it on for the duration of the time I’m out and about.

I went to the Harper show Sunday and saw some things between some food service workers in the restroom that I wasn’t supposed to. Modesty prevents me from giving too much detail, but rest assured I’ll never eat Concession Stand Chili Dogs again, and I’d recommend you do the same!!!!! Anyhoo, I found out the picture I have in my bedroom, “Birds in Leather (Lashed Together),” is selling for $3000. That made me feel good. But I didn’t buy anything altho I sure wanted to!!! That funny money was burning a hole right through my cleavage- I only kept it there because my micro-mini freshness strip doesn’t have pockets.

I rode out to see Gretchen on Tuesday. That motorbike just about tickles my insides to delirium every time I hop on it; I can see why your Dad loved it so. Gretchen looks like death. Despite her conditions, she’s still a lot of fun. She and her home health aid have a thing going on, I’m certain of it. She always had a thing for tiny men with big mustaches. Poor dear still has to be on Oxygen all the time… even when she’s in the shower! She also needs her adult diaper changed every two hours because of the constant diarrea. Doesn’t stop her from smoking and partying her incontinent ass off though. Tough old gal. She’s still living life to its fullest, unlike you.

Did I tell you I got Christian two of the books he wanted, but I’m still looking for that biography of Doctor Mengala and The Color Atlas of Anatomy in Higher Primates. I got cousin Patty a Black Beauty Barbie and another one too and a whole set of dolls from every back-water, turd-world country dressed in their hilariously tacky “traditional” clothes. They’re adorable. Patty does so love ethnic things. Where does she get that from? Well, this place is crawling with vermin so I’d better get busy laying my mouse traps and hanging my fly paper now. So take care of yourself and I’ll see you soon…Tho not soon enough to take you to your ECT appointment NEXT WEEKEND.

Love

Mother

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Mother, Mother, Mother,

NICE! Too numerous are the times I want to shake you till your helmet and wig fall clean off. To smack those false teeth out of your nip tucked face and make you realize WHAT your words and retarded responses do to others. Listen: Don’t worry about taking me to my appointment NEXT WEEKEND. My Lord, please, don’t bother yourself unduly… I know I’ve always been a hardship. And it’s not like you’re the root cause of my major emotional problems or anything, so no need to even feel guilty or obligated. Maybe you want to come and burn my apartment down just like you wanted to do Carol Ann?! You know, I only wish you lavished one fraction of the loving attention on me AND YOUR BRILLANT GRANDSON CHRISTIAN or Casey and her stupid kids or Thomas (yes, how dare I mentioned your son’s name: GO AHEAD AND DISOWN ME) as you do on that lush Gretchen, your precious Bunky or even that stinkin’ butt dog of yours- ratty little thing. But, I guess you’d say that only those three truly deserve it!  Only those three have treated you the way you want to be treated. Oh well.  Don’t worry about me. I’m just fine out here, raising Christian alone (with no help from Casey by the way). Nice.

So… I guess I’ll just see you when I see you. I can call a cab for ECT NEXT WEEKEND NEXT WEEKEND NEXT WEEKEND. You know, the cab driver even if he’s a card-carrying, woman-hating Muslim, will probably be A LOT KINDER to me than you’d ever be while ‘helping me out’ in one of your jalopies. No… he probably won’t start berating me from the instant he first sees me until the moment he drops me off. And even if he did, I’d expect that type of treatment from a stranger… NOT MY MOTHER. Whatever.

Happy Holidays… I’m out.

With Unshakable Regret and Deepset Sorrow, Your Youngest Biological Daughter

 

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GB,

So dramatic. You really should have gone Hollywood when you had some cuteness to you back in your late teens/early twenties.

Young woman, if you think that taking that tone and throwing such a pathetic pity party with me will get you much of anywhere, you’re dumber than I originally thought. You’re one nose hair away from being even more alone, in some insane asylum or who knows now because they closed all the state hospitals down. If you’re not careful, someone may have you locked up with such tragic lamentations. Sad. And, then, someone else will have the guilt of raising that junior ghoul of yours when he finally snaps over God knows what? Who knows? He might actually have a lucrative job in the CIA or FBI or Mafia.

You have no idea how often my heart breaks for you. It happens whenever I think about you- usually when I’m writing these letters. It’s when I’m writing you and thinking about you that I wish I could, once and for all, fix you. How I wish I could make parts of you work better, like your common sense, your priorities or your earning potential.  And other parts, like your mouth, I want to fix so they never work again. Don’t you see that sometimes the things we say in moments of anger shows people how we feel more than any other action? Don’t you see that sometimes when all you see is bad in a day, it was really filled with good? No. You don’t. Because you suck like that.

For as many years as I can remember, you have wanted to be loved so badly. Unconditional love. Always talking about unconditional love. So, what did you do? You have a really weird kid that you’re trying to make into a husband because his father, the car mechanic remember him? ditched you as quick as he could. Sounds gross, doesn’t it? When you were a kid yourself, you wanted kids that would pick you to play with, to pick you for sexy time, pick you for their game. You sometimes got picked, but sometimes not fast enough, and other times not at all. Mostly you just got picked on. Know why? Because, you asked for it. You still do- only the asking’s turned into begging. For a time, odd as it may seem, I tried to see myself in you: a sometimes lonely child, desperate to be loved, often feeling left out even if you truly weren’t. The pursuit of this identification was a fool’s paradise for me, however.  I was always popular, intelligent and beautiful- a triple-threat burden that you’ve never had to endure. So, I certainly cannot relate much as I originally thought. You know who I really do see in you? Your father.  I see his filthy, gawky shadow in you and my heart breaks a little before turning to complete ice. Take a lesson from his shadow: you have to be act like a human to be treated like a human. You have to be a friend to capture a friend. You have to learn to control your emotions, not lash out in small, third-grade vocabulary words and epithets when you don’t get your way. Learn how to play what others want to play. Learn that you don’t always have to have an opinion. I know it’s, like, counter to your personality, but, you might want to learn how to be fun to be around. You cannot always get your way, you never have so why should you now? I learned all of this the easy way; it’s going to be a lot more difficult for you, obviously.

So when you get in the car every day after school and I ask you how today went, I always hold my breath a little. I hope that today is the day you tell me only good things or at least make me laugh with your compulsory story of typical, daily misfortune. Will I ever hear only about all of the fun you have had or are going to have? No. Because I’m doomed to hear about the people who made you mad, about the people who didn’t want to play your middle-aged games of tattle-tale gossip bitch. I know it makes you sad, and I know you don’t understand. “What’s wrong with the world, mama?” you ask, and I roll my eyes and take a breath. Not that I want to encourage drug abuse, but maybe you should shoot some smack and relax- I don’t think marijuana is a strong enough sedative for the likes of you! Look, I know you’ll never talk of the incredible things you have gotten to do, because if your bulging ass hasn’t done them yet, it’s not going to. And you really haven’t done anything, not one thing, remarkable with your life. Nothing more than the rest of us haven’t done, and done better. I hate to break it to you but there’s a point, an age, where all viable growth potential ceases; you passed that milestone seven years ago.

As your Mother, my job WAS to teach you the world. My job WAS to help you find happiness, help you grow, help you be the kind of person who spreads love or some reasonable facsimile where’er they go. But I’M RETIRED NOW. And even if I wasn’t, I cannot be there to solve everything, I cannot jam a balled-up pair of your son’s gym socks into your gob when your emotions tell you to yell. You’re really no better than a lab animal and a source of great embarrassment to our bloodline.

I knew being your mom would change me. Boy, did I underestimate that one. I knew my life wouldn’t get any better than it had been, but naively hoped it wouldn’t get any worse. I knew I had a big job to do, but I never guessed what a pain in the ass I was in for! Whoa!  Even when you were an infant, I sent you to a babysitter so Casey, Lisa and I could enjoy a few hours of blessed relief. Of the four of you, you (followed in short order by that half-man you call a brother) were the easiest, by far, to shoo off to school then camp then college then the final big push into your loosely termed ‘motherhood.’ Honestly, I gave up on you in fourth grade but only part way. I prayed daily that, as a parent, I would never be held accountable for raising such a horrid harpy.

I don’t know what the hell I’m doing now… maybe it’s blessed senility setting in.

Let’s face it GB, you’ll never find the good or fun in anything. You are there but not there. But, you know, you will truly not be there someday. For Christian’s sake, I hope you get there faster than I do. In the meantime, I hope you find some friends and keep them this time. I hope that someday you will find the right words to say rather than the angry ones, or the condescending ones, or the prissy ones, or the downright stupid ones and you will be able to speak to me like an adult rather than a half-witted kitten. Until then, Merry Christmas forever.

Mother

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