I have been working longer hours these past weeks and it makes me wonder how on earth my mother managed to keep up a house and deal with two children and a large dog.

She had me, of course, and I was an asset around the house even as a child, but still.

Hats off to you mom!

In my case the house itself, it's oldness and shittiness plays a huge role in things.

If a week passes without something breaking or cracking or falling apart, I am astonished.

There is a fair bit of plaster repair to be done, after that last big leak.  I am just waiting for the urge to take me.  It is one of those jobs I don't really enjoy.

Last year Mark and I fixed a large crack in the living room and it was a total pain in the ass,  this is going to be a doozie compared to that.

We attended a 40th birthday party for Mark's brother in law yesterday.  The whole family was there as well as a large number of friends.
I managed to contain my social anxiety well and had an ok time.

Aging seems to be a big theme for me this year.

We learned yesterday that an acquaintance has breast cancer.

"What on earth is going on? How can that even be?  She has a BABY!"  I said to Mark.

He says we are just getting older, people die, they get sick, get used to it.

This woman is a mama with three little children, so it felt particularly hard to hear.

At times like that I hear my grandmother's voice, a voice that was often harsh and unkind, say
"why can't that happen to some old maid?"  and now that I have children of my own, I think perhaps she wasn't so unkind after all, just a realist.

Grandma was very fond of name calling and insults.

She had an acid tongue.

I can be fairly brutal myself when necessary, so I get it.

She was a sort of blue collar Dorothy Parker.  I still laugh to myself often over things she said 30 years ago.

Maxwell turned 13 last week.

I am still wildly and insanely in love with being his mother.

I can't imagine my life without him. I want to wrap him in bubble wrap and keep him safe from every single bad thing, which is hard now that he is more independent.

"I just want you to make good choices."  

I say almost everyday.

He rolls his eyes, but I think he mostly will. I tell him a lot of cautionary tales, which he half listens to. 

Sometimes I yell at him.

"do you know what I would have given to have someone pack my lunch when I was a kid?! A LOT!"

But, because someone has packed his lunch, washed his clothing, made his bed, opened the door for him everyday when he arrived home from school, he has no idea what it would feel like not to have it, so he mostly thinks I am crazy.