This morning, instead of sneaking back to bed or taking a nap on the couch after Tim left and Morella was snuggled up in her crib, I decided to read. Okay, I did try to slip in a few winks but Morella needed some resettling just as I got to the good part of a snooze. So this morning I finished A Marriage Made in Heaven – or Too Tired for an Affair by Erma Bombeck and just had to go look up whether or not she was still alive and if she got her wish of becoming a grandmother. Sadly the answer to both of these questions is no. I decided then that I was a serious fan and ordered two more books via interlibrary loan. I also thought to look up three of her favorite authors and check out their writing. They are all humorous suburban, child raising books. For some reason, I am finding these to be incredibly hilarious, soothing and insightful. I wish I could write as well as Erma does. One tidbit I learned from her book yesterday was that she experienced infertility as well, and tried for six years before adopting a little girl. Then a year later she got pregnant and then three years after that it happened again! Wow. She also had two miscarriages — and I don’t know. I feel a real connection with her, not to mention she is hilarious and makes me laugh so much.
It’s a good thing I finished this book this morning. I thought I had until the 20th to return it to the library but saw that it’s actually today. Whew! I have already given them enough money to remodel their bathroom in late fees. Sure, it’s for a good cause, but sometimes I like to look responsible. I guess that is going to my outing with Morella today, a walk to the library sans dog. I typically call my Mom during these walks because it helps ease my frustration at hearing things like the following:
“I gotta get back on the diet wagon. I have a confession.” She pauses. I hear her take a few steading breaths on the other line. I start to expect the worst – her vision is gone, she can’t walk anymore, she has chest pains. “Shane threatened to tell you that I am eating a pizza a night.”
“What?” I ask. Since when did I become the “just wait until your Dad gets home” person?
“A tombstone,” she replied sadly. “It’s just that this medication makes me so darn hungry!”
“Then eat some baby carrots!” I shouted.
“I don’t want baby food,” she stated firmly.
“Baby carrots isn’t baby food, Mom” I sighed and changed my tactic before my blood pressure got any higher. “Well, why are you getting Tombstone. That’s so expensive.”
“No it’s not, it’s only $3.49 a pizza,” she said.
“Mom, that’s expensive! You could get two Jack’s pizza for that price,” I explained.
“If I am going to eat a pizza, I want it to taste good,” she replied slowly.
I counted to five, but couldn’t take it anymore.
“You shouldn’t be eating a pizza night anyway!”