My poor mother. She can do nothing but worry about her daughters, but my sisters should thank me for the chaos that is my life. Because their families don't cause Mom nearly as much stress and worry, and that is saying something considering that my brother-in-law did a tour in Iraq.
The silly woman actually said to me that she figured when she didn't hear from me, no news was good news. No, Mom, no news means that I'm trying to spare you. But she called last week to catch up, hear my voice, and make sure no one had been carted off to a psychiatric hospital, prison, or the morgue.
Our conversation went something like this:
Mom: I hadn't heard from you in a couple of weeks and I just wanted to hear the sound of your voice.
me: Has it been two weeks? Gee, time flies whether you're having fun or not.
Mom: So how is everyone? How's your job?
me: Fine, fine. Miranda is looking forward to Spring Break and Sam is driving Mick a little less crazy because our respite worker has been coming in for a few hours a couple of times a week.
Mom: So she still isn't going to school?
me: Nope.
Mom: Well, what are you going to do? Can the school do anything?
And I proceeded to tell Mom what I think will happen and what the school is obligated to provide. In other words, they are going to have to send someone to our house and provide services here until Sam can be coaxed back to school. During this part of our conversation, Samantha wandered into view.
me: Sam, no more food.
Mom: Is she still shredding her clothes?
me: Mom, you don't even want to see my sewing room. So, yes, the answer is yes. Sam, well ok, but just one slice. Yeah, my sewing room is about waist deep. I think she has one pair of intact underwear left and that can change at any moment. OH MY GOD! MY MICROWAVE IS ON FIRE!!!!!!!!!
Mom: GO! GO, HONEY! GO!!!!
me: Oh, crap. Call you back later.
LATER...
me: It was cheese. Who knew? I didn't know cheese was flammable.
Mom: What? Was there metal on it?
me: No, it was just cheese I thought. Sam likes to eat it melted and usually does an ok job by herself. I didn't realize she'd had it in long enough for it to burst into flames. So I opened the microwave door and it kept burning so I threw a glass of water on the fire and that made the plate shatter. Man, it stinks in here. Miranda, open the window, too.
My mother went on to explain that if I'd kept the microwave door shut the fire may have gone out on its own and then I went on to explain that fire freaks me out and I'm no good with fires which is why having a pyro daughter is a bit stressful.
While we chatted I wiped out the microwave with white vinegar. I was reminded of the worst bartender we'd ever had. This woman caused Mick so much stress that I had to talk him out of firing her about three times. The fishermen had nicknamed her T-Rex. Not because she was fearsome (she was 4 foot 10), but because she had curiously short little arms. T-Rex was blind as a bat and burnt microwave popcorn in our bar microwave so badly, that she had to buy us a new microwave. She offered, we didn't make her, but then she did it to the new one, too. T-Rex: 2 minutes for popcorn, not 2 hours.
Anyway, my house smelled funky for about 12 hours. I think the white vinegar helped.
Anyway, my phone conversation, part 2, ended shortly with:
Mom: Oh, honey, I worry about you so much.
me: (sigh) I know, Mom. I know.
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