I love my mother. I ‘clare I do.

But….sometimes….when planning is involved….

….that’s when I KNOW beyond a shadow of a doubt that…I…am….adopted. LOL

So….my mom calls me about a week ago to say that she’s catching the train to visit my cousin. Ok.

Now, for you that just might be “informational”. For me, it’s a “requirement”, meaning she needs me to pick her up and drop her at said train station. Hmmmm…..I take a quick look at my calendar, see that I have plans and gently “suggest” that she ask someone else.

Now, I know my Mom so, I know that she is ONLY going to ask someone else at the very last minute. Part of it is that whole thing about not asking folk to do things for you (unless it’s your single, childless daughter cause what else could she possibly have to do, right? *SIGH* Yes, therapy. I know. I’m on it.) Part of it is not being able to offer folk money for doing this favor.

Anywho, I rearrange my schedule SLIGHTLY. She tells me that her train leaves at 11am Saturday & she needs to be there at 10am. Cool.

Thursday evening, my mom calls to ask me what time I’m going to get there to pick her up Saturday AM. Not being smartalecky but not really getting the question, I respond thusly, “What difference do it make? Just be ready.” I remind myself to breathe.

OK. Saturday I’m pushing to get the door - it’s an hour drive under “good” traffic conditions and I want to allow myself some leeway. Tossing things in my bag for my weekend trip and heading for the front door. The phone rings? Who da heck?!

My mom. (I remind myself once again to BREATHE.)

She can’t find the reservation information she had. She wants me to call the train station and verify what time her train leaves.

*CRICKETS.*

I assure her that she’s getting on A train at 11am. WTH? (I slap myself out of my almost-out-loud “WTH” comment…and BREATHE.)

I get in the car, stop for gas, fill the CD player with some of my favorite music and hit the road, breathing slowly, rhythmically.

Ok….why…why….WHY in the name of all that’s travel-related….

WHY DOES MY MOTHER ANSWER THE DOOR STILL IN HER NIGHTGOWN/ROBE WITH CURLERS IN HER HAIR AND STUFF I KNOW SHE PLANS TO TAKE WITH HER STILL ON THE TABLE?!?!?!?!

**Jesus be a fence and a sense of timing!! **

I.Have.NO.Words.

None.

I walk down the hall, go to the restroom then back to the car to clean out some stuff. (It should be noted that by this time, I am BREATHING heavily…and it’s not deep, cleansing breaths either!!)

While I wait, D wonders into the kitchen, asks me to look over some papers and then my mom starts chatting like we don’t have anywhere to be. Then she starts giving him a list of things to do, yada yada yada, blah blah blah…talking about a few things she needs to do before she leaves, yada yada, blah blah.

I look at the clock. Look at my mother. Watch my mother look at the clock. (I’m tryna BREEVE ya’ll, I really am.)

I ask this question, “What time do you have to be at the train station?” (I breathe)

She says, “10.”

I ask, “And what time is it now?” (I breathe)

She says, “Oh.”

*SIGH*

I would LOVE to say that this is a rare occurrence. I’d LOVE to say that but that my lovelies, would constitute a lie on my behalf.

It happens every single time I go to pick my mom up for whatever the occasion might be. Why? I’on even have a clue cause ya’ll know she’s up at the durn crack of dawn. Heck, she wakes up the frigging roosters! LOL

Family. Gotta love ‘em.

So thankful my DNA marker is heavily laced with a sense of humor,
*~* MsJayy *~*