Tuesday, May 7, 2013

I'm Not Worthy

I may be her eight-dollar daughter, and sometimes her five-cent daughter, but my mom is worth a million bucks.

Every morning I call her before school, and most nights I call her before going to bed. It's not that we have anything to say. She likes to hear what went on at work, because truth is stranger than fiction. When it's Mom's turn to talk, I'm never sure what I'm going to learn. Because she rarely arrives at the destination she sets out for with her story. Except that time she was sure those partners in crime women writers were secretly murdering people in order to have book plots.

Last night I called around 10:30. Mom stays up late and watches David Letterman. I'm a TMZ kind of gal myself. I didn't really feel like talking, what with my advanced case of HickGermItis robbing me of most of my voice. Mom was worried. I told her about the pharmacy not having my cough medicine. She said she was going to the doctor for lab work the next morning, and that she would be happy to ask if that prescription had been called in. I told her that was okay, I'd deal with it from school on my plan time. Then she asked if she could pick up the medicine and bring it to me at school if it was ready. I told her that was okay, that I probably shouldn't take that medicine at school, because it has a tendency to put me to sleep two hours later. Then she offered to come out and spend the night at my house, because Hick was going to be on a business trip, and I would be left with only strapping young Genius, a licensed driver, and the helpful little Pony to tend to me should I grow ill in the night. I told her that was okay, that I didn't want her to spend an uncomfortable night away from home for my benefit, and that I knew she was just a phone call away.

As we hung up, Mom said she would be thinking about me all night, and that she would do anything she could to help me the next day.

I have not yet told her about my purple misshapen pinky-toe.


  1. "When I'm Old, I'll Wear Purple" is a popular book/philosophy.

    You just didn't know it would be your toe that would be sportin' the purple. (And if you're old enough to stand on the precipice of retirement, I'm going to call you "old" because I'm green with envy.)

  2. Oh yeah, mamas worry about their offspring no matter how old the'r babies are. Toe still hanging on?

  3. Once a mother ...... always a mother.

  4. Your Mama sounds a lot like my mama. If I tell her I'm sick or hurt in any way she'll call ten times a day. I can't handle her brand of sympathy.

  5. You're so blessed to have a mamma so ready to help and so full of love. Mammas are priceless, all of them. Even the bad ones have their good days. No amount of appreciation and presents can make up for all those hours of diapers and sleepless nights. You can only pay it forward.

    No chicken trucks here. Never thought about the dangers of a 70 mph egg. Whoah!

  6. Sioux,
    I see, Madam. My toe is popular, and I am teetering on the precipice overlooking the chasm of retirement.

    My toe has an odd bulge at the place where it hooks onto the foot. I'm sure it's my imagination telling me that it's a bone trying to poke out. It's probably just some exotic parasite that lay dormant in the wood of the bathroom closet door, and is now working its way to my brain via the blood vessel highway.

    Yeah. She really can't help herself.

    WAIT! You mean Genius won't appreciate my long-distance tender loving care when he goes off to college?

    She spent the night here once when Hick was in Wales. The Pony was a baby then, and Genius was three. I put The Pony to bed with what I thought was the beginning of chicken pox. We were ecstatic that he was finally getting them from his daycare contacts. The younger the better, we thought.

    I woke up in the night for one of those random mom moments, and went to check on him. He was puffed up like a blowfish, virtually unrecognizable, from a reaction to amoxicillin that he was taking for an ear infection. Thank goodness Mom was there to help me with Genius and spend three hours in the ER with us. She's entitled to hover, due to her track record.

    Those chickens don't care where they let one fly.