Since the universe thinks it's high comedy to start throwing curve balls at me, which I am lacking the tools to deal with, I thought I'd distract us all with a little nothingness because that I can control.
On Mother's Day we took my mother to 2223 on Market Street. I have been there a few times before with the boys, as it's a block from Michael's house. It's reallly good comfort food. She had mentioned a desire to try it a little while ago so I made the arrangements. Me, mom, the little brother and the stepdad. It was a generally pleasant meal and as I said, the food is really good. I was in my mom's good graces (which is a rarity) because a) I made the arrangements for us to eat there and b) I hadn't been home for a week. You'd have thought I was on the other side of the world from her as she's all, "I misseeedd you!" and not the mere, mmm, 4 miles away that I was. (I just google mapped the distance. Yep. Almost exactly 4 miles.) She seriously said, channeling the most Irish Catholic side of her, "You know you could call!" Oh moms. They are special special creatures. Tomorrow is her first day off of the week. I know I am going to get roped into being her playmate even though I have a billion other things I would rather be doing. This is why I didn't feel compelled to get her some elaborate mother's day present. EVERY day is Mother's Day around here.
I also always find it telling the cards we get my mother for mother's day. First off, we never do sappy cards in my family. Not how we roll. Mine has a girl standing on the front and it says, "Some kids are a real challenge to raise." You open it and it says, "Like that one, in our family, you know the one who...well, never mind, let's not ruin your special day." The one from my brother has a mom in an apron 1950s style on the front and says, "You're obviously the world's most perfect mom." Inside, "How else could I have turned out so great?"
Yep. These are the roles we play in our family. Me with the eye rolls, him with how perfect he is. I am also the one that was given the "Not Mom's Favorite" shirt for Christmas one year. It's accurate. I'm okay with this.
The following night we went to Chapeau for our new restaurant of the month thing she made us start doing a couple years ago. It was good and very French. Not rave worthy but if I was in the Richmond and hungry I'd give it a go. Beside: Kir Royal? Yeah. Those. Since there are three of us, we're sitting in the back corner table. As it's a quaint and pretty small restaurant, a couple gets seated at the round table next to us as we're finishing up. They spy on our desserts. I overhear them talking. They are obviously doctors because the guy is talking in some serious detail about procedures he is performing in jargon that the woman seems not at all flustered about. Me? I'm about to spit out my apple tart. "Yeah, I'm gonna have to remove the speculum and go back in and maybe reroute..." Oh good god. I do not do blood and guts. Horrible crime scene stories? Sure, I've heard enough of them. So I sort of start laughing. My mom, eating "chocolate soup" (the chocolate sauce at the bottom of her plate of profiteroles, one of her favorites) asks, "Are you laughing at me!?" I tell her no but that because of the close proximity of the other table to us, I'll tell her later. We leave the restaurant a few minutes later and I tell her I was laughing because of the guy's gory hospital stories. She says, "You should have told him to stop because you have to listen to all our awful cop stories at home!" It's nice to know I'm not insane and they realize they do talk endlessly about this stuff.
Alright. That's it for now. Not thinking about things we're not thinking about. Which means lots of gym going. Whee!
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