Songs for Mother's Day

12 May 2002

I feel sorry for people whose moms are idiots.

There are lots of reasons for that, of course, but I was thinking on Friday that our kids probably won't have to go to the library for their papers in high school, because by that time one or another of us will have gotten obsessed with practically anything they can think of, and we'll have a few books around the house about it, too. Then I thought, hmm, well, but maybe they'll go out of their way to find something we're not obsessed with. Because one of the great pleasures of growing up -- if your parents aren't idiots, I mean -- is getting to know things they don't know. Things they never thought about knowing. Sometimes things that make them cock their heads and squint at each other, silently asking: "Where did she get this? Was it you? It wasn't me! I guess if it makes her happy...."

But if your parents are idiots, then you start in with that so early that it's not fun, I would think.

Anyway, I'm wondering if we might not frustrate the kids anyway. I envision the conversation:
Me: What are you doing your paper on, kiddo?
Player To Be Named Later: Nihilism in post-WWII Japan.
Me: Nihilism in...oh, hell, are you sure?
Player: Yep.
Me: We don't have anything about that. Why don't you call C.J.? He'll be able to help you.
Player: Um, or maybe Samuel Taylor Coleridge. I'm not sure yet.
Me: Well, in that case, call Michelle for sure. For awhile she was nicknaming Scott after one of Coleridge's children.
Player: Argh!

The really delightful thing is, I have faith that a kid of mine would be able to thwart that without even trying particularly hard.

It worked for my mom.

I think her Mother's Day presents are going to confuse her (at least one of them -- probably not both). But they were both things that I thought she Should Have, No, Really. One of them I bought while Scott was in town and the other while Ceej was. And I'll bet she'll have no trouble telling the difference.

I feel terrible. Don't worry, I'm not sick again, and my back isn't independently messed up. I'm just terminally female, and this time it's not a happy thing for awhile. Ah well. We deal. Yesterday I dealt by doing only a bit of work and only a few chores and then curling up on the couch and reading the "easy" books from my pile. I finished The Lives of Christopher Chant and read The Jedera Adventure, and then I went on to two Diane Duane media tie-in novels, Starrise at Corrivale (I don't even know what video game that ties in with) and My Enemy, My Ally, which was about as satisfying as your average old Star Trek episode, but took me about as long to read, too. From there I moved on to Psychlone by Greg Bear. I'm not done with it yet, but...well...if you're thinking, Pyschlone, good heavens, he's got to be able to come up with a better title than that? You're wrong. That title is perfectly apt and tells you pretty much everything you need to know about this book. Oh my, oh my. But I'm almost done with it, and will almost certainly move on to something better.

My body isn't the only bit of me that's being mean. When I'm not mumbling the words to "Come On, Eileen" (curse you, VH1 one-hit wonder show!), I've been singing either Green Day or Billy Joel. Yes. Billy Joe or Billy Joel. My evil brain has gone so far as to present me with Green Day covering "Only the Good Die Young" and Billy Joel singing "Longview." Dear, oh, dear. This must be fixed somehow. Timprov's Billy Joel albums were stolen from our car in Concord, lo, these many moons ago, so I'm going to make do with "Dookie" and "Cold Spring Harbor" and hope that works. Because this is beyond my frail human endurance.

Oh, hey, it's not just Mother's Day, it's also Kev's birthday! Happy birthday, Kev!

I think that's it for now.

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