This morning she told me I was counting money wrong.
I kid, it's been great having her around, although her explaining to my husband why I have certain faults isn't my favorite of her new hobbies.
My mom and I haven't lived in close proximity to one another since 2004, when we both left Atlanta and she moved to Indiana, so it is nice that we're only fifteen minutes apart. My brother, a man eternally on the edge, flew out to Indianapolis to drive back to Connecticut with my mom for road company. She packed her car with a few things until it was bursting at the hinges, including her two cats Olly and Molly, and they set off on their 18 hour journey. Unfortunately, one of her cats escaped from her leash at a truck stop after the first hour and that set the tone for the trip. My brother broke the news to me via text message that Molly was "gone." I prodded worriedly, asked if she'd run away, had been hit by a car--is she dead? "No, but she will be soon. Mommy's fine, she's having an iced tea."
They've each been calling me to complain about the other for about two weeks now. They'll make up.
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