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10:42 a.m. - 2012-05-13

I love my new glasses except for one thing, the nose pad on the left side is wonky and keeps shifting position. It's making the bridge of my nose sore. Though this is in part because my skin is becoming thin. Hell, I've always been thin-skinned emotionally, but now I am in the literal sense too. My hide is turning into parchment. Tissue paper. And dry? Holy moly, I've given up on baby lotion and have started lubricating my parched itchy legs with Vaseline. You remember the oil bath they dipped C-3PO in? I want one of those. I realized the other day I own more facial moisturizers than I do lipsticks. I use more grease on my bod in a week than I've used to sauté things during my entire lifetime and I've been cooking for 40 years. If it's this bad now when I'm only 49 and haven't finished menopause yet I predict that somewhere around my 65th birthday someone will touch me and I'll crumple into a pile of dust like a staked vampire.

Something to look forward to, eh?

Also something to look forward to, my kid is going to make me breakfast. Mick took Wolf to hand this week and made him understand this bullshit with ignoring Mother's Day had to stop. It's not that I think Wolf doesn't love me, I know he does. He's a good son and extremely affectionate for an Aspie teenager, but he does have that awful blind spot so many Aspies have about the necessity of doing for others in obvious, tangible ways. There's a big gaping hole in the concept of reciprocity with most of them. Giving back, whether it's with thanks or gifts or picking up a lunch tab, it never occurs to them. One of the more sucktastic and hurtful issues with autism and one that nearly destroyed me when I was with the ex. All take, no give. After a while it becomes too humiliating to have to remind your husband that you'd like a birthday present or a Valentine. Some might claim cluelessness is a guy thing in general, but being with Mick has shown me there ARE men who get it. And he's determined to teach Wolf to do what might not come instinctually but will serve him well as a learned skill. Another of Mick's wonderful life lessons in how to be a real man. My kid is very lucky. As am I.

I told him so last night too. How I hoped he understood how precious it was to me that he knows how I take my coffee, how much I love the Rolling Stones, that I wear silver and not gold, that Arm and Hammer baking soda toothpaste is too rough on my gums and I prefer Crest or Colgate. To be known so well by someone else is astonishing. And wonderful. Mick thanked me prettily enough, but I could also see how he was mentally scratching his head and wondering what the big deal was. It's just what you do, you know? No. It isn't. At least not in my experience it hasn't been. I grew up a stranger in my own family, my values and priorities were too off from theirs, too weird and scary, and they never let me forget how disagreeable and unsatisfactory I was to them. And we all know what life with the ex was like. 25 years and the man never bothered to know thing one about me and when I begged for a shred of kindness and attention he laughed and made it clear that being my friend was an unnecessary burden he was NOT willing to take on. Why should he? It was bad enough he'd been stuck with me through the legal bonds of marriage and kids.

So Mick's attention to detail, his acceptance that I am what I am and I like what I like and it's all okay fine with him is miraculous to me.

Sure we get frustrated and aggravated with each other. My passivity and procrastination drives Mick nuts. Even I can see that I'm a pain in the ass about some things. I'm no paragon. In fact I'll flat out admit I'm touchy and a know-it-all. I think too much and do too little. I'm kind and accepting but this is because it's easier than being all affronted and minding others' business too much. I'm a big bundle of squandered potential and mostly I don't care that I am. I'm a foodie with the nerve to include tortilla chips and Good-n-Plenty on my list of life's necessities. I smoke. I like princess movies and documentaries about dopey stuff like Steinway pianos and cochlear implants. My favorite engine is the Ford 289 V-8 and I've stripped one to its block, rebuilt it and drove my 'Stang cross country half a dozen times all by myself, yet these days I make Mick drive me to the store and haven't pumped gas in over 3 years.

Right? What's not to love? *snerk*

Yet love me he does. Enough to put up with my oddball ways and believe himself lucky to have me. Enough to take my strange and difficult son into his heart and want to do his best to teach Wolf everything he knows about life and being a good person. Today especially I regret not meeting Mick earlier in our lives so I could have given him a child of his own. To make our dream baby Scarlett with him, she with her mother's green eyes and her dad's curly black hair. Physically enough like her literary namesake to make her name somewhat bearable. Though sometimes we laugh and think it's possible poor Scarlett might have gotten her father's no-neck over-muscled physique and my terrible turd brown hair and then where would she be? Too late in history to join the East German Women's Weightlifting Team. Poor kid.

Anyway, Mother's Day. Last night Mick was fussing a little over me having to put on a dog and pony show and serve up a company meal to his mother. I flapped my hands at him and reminded him the current awkwardness is a trifle. MIL's been a great mother to him. She might be difficult these days and it looks like she'll only get worse as time goes on, she's still his mother and won't be here forever. Will it matter in the long run? Better he should spend the time with her while he can. Because once she's gone none of this bullshit between her and him will matter, what would hurt is lost opportunity. Regret over being stiff-necked and dopey. I reminded him about how he used to grumble and bitch about dragging over to Gram's every weekend to have brunch yet now that she's dead he'd give anything to have brunch with her one more time. So. Today MIL will come to dinner. We'll all be polite and pass the time as nicely as we can. She'll have a good meal and open her presents and Mick will give her a couple big squeezy hugs and be glad she's still here to hug. That's what matters, right?

I think so too.

Happy Mother's Day, y'all. ~LA

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