Back to Routine

My mother left this morning, and she said she had a wonderful time. The Consort thinks I should believe her, but I wonder (maybe it’s because I know what I was *thinking* at some points). The latter part of the visit was better—because I had some work to do, but also because there were some things she needed that we could go out and get, rather than just sit at home or in a café and chat. Chatting on the go is much more palatable to me.

Privacy was never a big deal with my mother when I was a kid: she looked through our drawers on a regular basis, she steam-opened letters we received, in 12th grade she opened all my college application reponse letters before I got home from school, and there was even a roll of film that she developed which really, she shouldn’t have touched (seeing as it was in the back of a drawer). Ahem.

Anyway, that’s part of why conversations now can be such a strain. Living far away, she tries to cram in all sorts of questions into a brief visit, and I resist some of it just because of this history. In case it wasn’t clear, did you know I can be stubborn and contrary at times?

So I’ll try to stop second-guessing things, and believe that she really had a good time.