Edubabble and other Blither

Nothing's certain but death and taxes... and your mother driving you and your sibs crazy. I really shouldn't say that, for I know lots of people who don't feel that way. My friend the Senora and her brother and sisters adored their mother, who, I might I add, never offered opinions on how they could improve themselves. I once worked with a woman my mother's age who still got choked up whenever she mentioned her late mother even ten years after her death. My sister-in-law and her twin are exceptionally close to their mother, a hippie-cum-guidance counselor. This was just never meant to be for me. My mother has never been the cheerleaderly, soothing type. She never will be.

Vic, my sister, called me as I left the salon after getting a haircut this afternoon. We were concerned about filing our income taxes, wondering how the extra money we inherited from our dad's passing would affect us financially. Tom-- far less heartbroken today-- recommended that however we file the proceeds from the sale of the house, we do so similarly so as not to irritate the IRS or otherwise draw attention.

Unfortunately, Vic can't seem to stop irritating my mother. The woman drives me crazy, too, but I decided last year that I'm done letting family, mine or Trip's, make me upset. I also reminded Vic that we already lost one parent with unresolved issues and, more importantly, feeling regret over how we had misunderstood him. I'm going to try to just have more patience with my mother, viewing her as a toddler who doesn't know any better yet. So far so good. When I was a toddler, though, one learned by getting a smack across the ass.

Earlier this afternoon, Tom thanked me for all my help... with his cell phone an' that. (Yes, I did help him figure out his cell phone with enthusiastic and unrequested input from a couple of study hall chaps who insisted that Tom needed a QWERTY keyboard for his texting pleasure. ) I don't know how much help I was with "that." I wanted to avoid all "that," especially when I checked in on Tom early Monday morning. He said he had been up at camp drinking whiskey, and he hardly ever drank. Great idea. He was a man who liked being married, who needed to be wanted. This whole thing reminded him of his high school girlfriend who dumped him after four years when he was in a car accident and lost his scholarship to play football. Then, of course, was his wife. Now Amelia. He was so upset Saturday that he drove to her house, but she wasn't home.

This gave me pause, it did. Tom's camp is probably at least half an hour away through mountains and over windy roads. Probably even further away than that. It seemed a little creepy to me, a little dangerous. I told Amelia. She knows, and Principal Stan knows, so it's out of my court. Tom knows it was dumb, and he asked me if I thought Amelia would be open to talking to him. He's not mad at anyone, just himself.

I'm starting to see why. Last night I was on the treadmill, and Amelia called me, wondering what I thought. She was a little pissed at having to worry about Tom. Her daughter, a new mom, wanted her to be nice. Her son said philosophically, "You snooze, you lose." Amelia had asked Tom to escort her to her son's wedding, and he hemmed and hawed and then had a family thing. He never once asked her how the wedding went.

He didn't want to try anything, he explained yesterday morning, before he could give it his all. Does this mean he's been waiting for his mother to die? She's pretty healthy. I wonder if she offers opinions. I just bet she does.

Right now I'm washing clothes from the recently completed school play. I volunteered to help with costumes for the play, a comedy based on the premise that Aesop expected all the fables to be rolled into one. This involved simply going to thrift stores and ordering shit online, and now washing everything. I meant for the kids to leave only the clothes that came from the school, but somehow I have stray socks, dress shirts, and t-shirts from last year's play. Most of the time you can't get them to listen, but this time-- they hyper-listen.

That's the other thing that's sure-- middle schoolers will rarely interpret things as you'd like.