Yep, that be me and I wouldn't have it any other way. My mother, the one I call "Mumma," flew South for the Winter early this morning after putting up with my scattered ways for six months, during which she valiantly strove to bring order to my apartment that is infested by the mess that is me.

As I write this I'm waiting for her call telling me that she has arrived. Her flight was about two hours and forty-five minutes late according to the airline website. I should be taking this time to do some cleaning but here I am. I like to call it "my life's work," this cleaning of my apartment. When I'm done with it, it will be time for me to croak. Recently I've been unable to find all kinds of important things that they told me to keep in a secure place...well, the things most likely are in a secure place, just not one that I know of. They've gotta be more precise with their advice!

I now know first-hand about the parent-child role-reversal that ensues when living with an aging parent. As I walked back to my car after dropping her off at the gate, I had to convince myself that she would be fine even though I wasn't flying with her and that worrying about her wouldn't help. Now I anxiously await her call. This despite knowing that she is stronger and wiser than me and has no problem asking for help when she needs it. I take care of her and watch over her and she depends on me to do that but I also know that my quasi-parental role cannot override her fulfilled parenthood, which is why I am not shy about pulling my hair out when she annoys me. She's my mom and it's her job to put up with my tantrums...

Just talked to her. She arrived OK and was on her way home. Coolness!

--aslam

4:38:23 PM