Ma’s Message

April 30th, 2002

Mom emailed yesterday. She wrote that Spanky (my sis) is working at the greenhouse, The Boy (my bro) is finished with finals, and the dogrun in the backyard has now become “the proverbial swamp sponge” and is filled with poo.

Yes, she made a point to mention that the dog shit in the backyard is thawing.

I love Mom.

Mom also related that her and Creative-Genius-Dad (step dad) had been away on a counselling weekend. My parents love counselling. Therapy is like a hobby for them - CG Dad even has therapy friends - people he sees at his “group” meeting every week. Mom hates group, but she does enjoy unravelling the mysteries of her childhood with her shrink, of which she has an abundance.

Dad does this thing every so often - it’s called “weekend intensive” - which is a nice way of saying 72 hours of lovey-dovey, lets-cry-about-our-pain group therapy. I’m not sure what happens at these things, but CG Dad comes back with these crazy revelations about the state of God, love and rotini pasta. Ma joined him for one of his beloved weekend sessions, and although she wouldn’t give details, she did say she’d rather have been doing something more worthwhile - something like scratching her ass.

Well actually, mom would never say anything like she’d rather be scratching her ass. She is a lady. I added that last part.

Also, Mom forwarded some emails from Gpa entitled “Don’t worry yet”, and “Mother Fixer”. Apparently Gma was in the hospital, cause they thought she had a heart attack. But actually, Gma just had really bad “acid reflux”, which really is a polite way of saying Gma had perilous gas.

I know how Gma must be feeling - I get that same “acid reflux” every once in a while - mostly after dining at Dietrick.

It’s a dangerous game to eat a place with both “die” and “trick” in the name.

File this under: Mother Fixer sounds like Mother F-er - my family’s funny!

Make a Haus Call