I hate when my mother is right.

Well, not really. An incredible woman, no post secondary education, other than life itself, and not always an easy one. Hell, she raised me.

I don’t let her read this blog, as a matter of fact, I told her that my blog is called blogzilly … now she is really worried about me. And Ken, she’s pissed I you someone missed Mother’s Day. But I digress …

How many times has someone said to you “Are you going to make it?” or “Are you going to be alright?” or “How do you do it?” Questions we all get until, of course, we go berserk and take out a dozen school nurses on their way to a school nursing convention with a nuclear tip surface-to-short-yellow-bus ballistic¬†missile¬†… oops, digressing again.

So, “are you going to make it?” The typical answer to the question is “Do I have a choice? Of course I will make it.”

Mom asked be today if I was going to be alright.

Of course mom, I don’t have a choice.

Of course you do.

Huh?

Of course you do. You can either handle it the best you can, or you can fuck up. That’s always the choice.

Did you just say “fuck up”?

Yes.

I adore you. When did you get so smart?

Somehow we make it through, and don’t fuck up too bad. Usually. But we do chose how we do it.

I hope Pearlsky loves me as much as I love my parents.

(And thank you, Elizabeth. Amen.)

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