I see the light!

Small rant or funny story from yesterday.

After spending the day watching movies on my couch while I tried to update my website I told my mother I was dropping my kid off at the mall and we were going to walk around and wait for her. It gives her a chance to get outside and saves me from driving back and forth (and back and forth). My kid was pissed, I mean what's more embarrassing than your mom at the same mall? You mom and almost cartoon like grandmother. It was an ugly fight which I took in 12 rounds.

So we drop off the kid and make our way into the mall (a giant outdoor shopping mecca that's actually really cool, a personal favorite) After about five minutes it's clear that my mother doesn't want to be there and she feels sick (which might just be from the fresh air her body lacks) so I ask if she wants to leave. She does. Great. Now I need to let the kid know and find a way home for her. I'm so pissed at this point because I fought for this mall trip. Wasted energy.

I throw my purse in the back seat and plot my way home on the now jammed surface streets. I turn onto Santa Monica Boulevard and I am immediately blinded by the sun. My already light sensitive eyes cannot deal with this and I literally cannot see a thing. I yell "SHIT!" quite loudly and tell my mother that I can't see a thing, she reaches into her purse, grabs her sunglasses and puts them on (her). Doesn't say a word. I cut over the right and pull over. She asks why and I tell her that I can't see. I blindly search for my purse in the back seat and find my sunglasses, get back into traffic and drive home.

This reminds me of the flight safety instructions: Put your own oxygen mask on before helping others. I truly believe that my mother took her life motto from that but only heard the first part.

This shit only happens to me.

Family picks.

So my mom is visiting. In a normal person's life this would be a good thing, a fun thing, a visit. In my ridiculous life it's like an unpaid babysitting job. I grew up in one of those homes where the kid raised the mom. I was free range and latch keyed. But not free range where I had fun and got to explore. More like I was out there on my own figuring it out by myself. Good times.

So now I get to sit around and do nothing as I hear how hard raising a teen is because she was a difficult teen. In all the stories I hear the references to children are about her and her sister. Never about me. Ever. Not once. Not kidding.

So I let her sleep in my recently done over bedroom, my sanctuary. My perfect zen space which I am quite proud of. She walks in and doesn't notice a thing. Nothing unusual there. This morning after she wakes up she says she has a question and we look at my memory board (like the one in the photo) I have memories of concerts, events, political stickers and other various things I find cool. She points to an old family picture of her, my dad, my sister and me. I love this picture  not for the memory (I don't remember it) but for the 70s awesomeness. It is also the only picture I think I have of the four of us. Never a happy family the pic is just cool. The closest I have to normal.

So anyways, she points to the picture and I'm waiting for it, a memory, a story, a something! Nope, she proceeds to tell me that she remembers taking the pic because she remembers buying her outfit. Yup. That's it. The only thing she had to say about my perfect zen bedroom is that she remembers the outfit she wore in a tiny picture.

I just keep quiet. It's not worth it. Hold your breath and it will be over soon.

I tried to talk my husband about why I don't bother and he said I was still angry. Nope. No anger, just sadness and a complete lack of understanding how a person lives a life with her head in clouds.

For now I will keep my stories to myself and put them here because it's like talking to audience even if that audience is me. I'm an awesome listener.