Today is the day I take my mom for her eye doctor appointment. Fittingly, the weather is ominous, which matches my outlook perfectly. Two hours in the truck with my mom? We can only spend so much of that time talking about the kids...
However...forgive me if I've already mentioned this but in my haze of parental PTSD, the details are somewhat foggy...My mom's one blind eye and monocle-wearing status ("It was a blessing from God that I lost the lens over my blind eye!") necessitate this outing.
Oh...have I mentioned that my cyclops mother still possesses a valid Illinois drivers license and still drives to town once a week for church and a trip to Wal-Mart? Well she does. So I recommend that people wanting to avoid a head-on introduction to a one-eyed, toothless, hardheaded elderly midget might want to stay off Old Highway 51 on Saturday.
Her church day is Saturday because my mom is a Seventh Day Adventist, whatever that is. My total knowledge of her religious habits is that they take place on Saturday, although if she doesn't get her Jesus bank completely filled on Saturday, she frequently tops it off on Sunday at another church. I think she's not too picky about the denomination as long as the holy is rollin' .
Which reminds me...my mother's street address is 1665, a fact that's so distressing to her (it's awfully close to 666, if you add the one and the five together) that she's petitioned the county to have her number changed. The godless county officials nixed that because it'll throw off the rest of the numbers on her road. So she's making the best of it, but she discusses her street address problem with a great deal more trepidation than she does, say, the tree laying across her house. She's confident that God will take care of her tree problem, but she's worried that the street address thing might piss him off.
God, in fact, will NOT be taking care of the tree problem. He won't be climbing up there and chunking up that tree. God will be sending his unwilling minion, me, out there with my Holy Chainsaw and Divine Bug Dope to tackle that problem, while God sits back sipping mint juleps and accepting all the Glory.
Cushy fuckin' job.