“A boy’s best friend is his mother.” ~ Norman Bates
Another Mother’s Day. Ugh. These are tough. I have told you that my mother hates mother’s day … she does not understand why her friends get excited about the one day that their kid calls and says “I love you.” She gets that from me, and my sister, all year ’round. Well, she does understand it. I sent her flowers anyway.
I am starting to dislike the holiday, and I never liked it much to begin with. Pearlsky has not seen her mom in about two months. “Why?” you ask? Beats me. She lives a few miles away, in the same town. She has absolutely no problem with me, that is not why she does not come by. She just doesn’t. Ouch. I don’t know if it bothers Pearlsky, I don’t know if she even knows, but it bothers me. It is just wrong.
My mom is aging. She is still smart and active, but since Dad passed she has lost self confidence and little things throw her off. This internet heartbleed security thing had her needing to change about five passwords and she could not understand why (who could?) and it really was a hassle. I am talking to her daily, I adore her, but … oh well.
Pearlsky came home with something they made in “class” for their moms. Wonderful. No clue what it was (something with soap and sugar?). I told the aide she could keep it and think of us. If it wasn’t drool, Pearlsky didn’t make it.
So here are my Mother’s Day resolutions:
- Blog more, back to the old days
- Redo the blog, modernize the look
- Tell you about the amino acid, and why you may care
- Take control back of my life
- Get Pearlsky into the right adult day program, whatever that will be
- Return to reading all your blogs.
So, here goes. And I really intend to follow through.
I came across this picture today, if this is not a fantastic Mother’s Day picture, I don’t know what is. Happy Mother’s Day to all you mothers and male-mother’s out there. Don’t wake me up until Monday.
Love the photo.
As for mothers day here, my own Mum is coming over on Sunday to help with the toilet training we are attempting with my near 8yr old son and give us a break. I hope she doesn’t get too many ‘presents’ while we’re out of the house!
Those resolutions are some I should follow as well. I get a lot of stuff sent home in Bennett’s packet as well, most of it junk that I toss out. So the other day I get an e-mail from the teacher, she asks me if I saw the page that had Bennett’s name on it that he wrote himself.
I double-took, or whatever you call it, because of course I didn’t, because I throw most of the stuff out because there’s no way he did the shit.
I tell her that I must have missed it, that there are usually so many things that one may have slipped by. So a few days later one comes home that is labeled by an older person ‘Bennett wrote this one by himself, no prompting’. And in letters that were way too large for a single page it said Ber. Almost Ben. That last one was trying to be an n but he just ran out of space.
I was understandably shocked. Later on I gave him a crayon and asked him to write the letter B. He did. Asked him to write his name. He did. It was pretty amazing.
And I want so badly to be a super proud Dad of that. Because I am proud. I really am. But this is why I suck. I can’t retain the joy when he finishes something like that, because inevitably something goes wrong, and then he Dr. Jeckyll’s on me and then bites, scratches, kicks, pinches, hits me or himself or starts to destroy things in the room. My PTSD is in massive overdrive, every day.
Sorry, your post got me thinking…I should be posting this, not blogjacking.
Is it okay that I laughed so hard that I snorted coffee through my nose when I read “If it wasn’t drool then Pearlsky didn’t make it.” ?