My mother is 88 and not nearly as dynamic as she once was. The ravages of life are taking her slowly, which I find painful to watch. She's a shell of who she was.
So, honor your mother on Mother's Day. She, once, wiped your ass; paced until your fever broke; agonized when you stayed out too late; mourned when you left and hoped for a call, when you were too busy. She deserves it; you gave her hell; and she'll remind you of it today, with stories that make you uncomfortable, such as the time you crapped in the bathtub and they put a photo of it in the family album.
"We all laughed until we cried. Look, here it is."
In Case You've Wondered
My blog is where my wandering thoughts are interspersed with stuff I made up. So, if while reading you find yourself confused about the context, don't feel alone. I get confused, too.
If you're here for the stories, I started another blog: scratchingforchange.blogspot.com
One other thing: sometimes I write words you refuse to use in front of children, or polite company, unless you have a flat tire, or hit your thumb with a hammer.
I don't use them to offend; I use them to embellish.