So, my mother got back from Mexico last month.She had spent 4 months on a boat with my dad, sailing around the wild Pacific Coast, while I enjoyed a blissful 4 months of sporadic contact with her.
Now she is back in town - well, an hour away but close enough - and it's never been more apparent.
True, I've only made the way out to Tsawwassen to visit her once since her arrival but that doesn't mean that I am out of harm's way.
She calls me. At least once a day. Sometimes more. She knows that I don't answer when I hear her calling and regardless she still leaves a million messages.
I love my mom. She is the sweetest, strongest, most generous person that I know. Those of you who have met her and know her will attest to that.
But she drives me mental.
Like, meeeeeeentaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal.
I already miss those days when she would call me once a week, talk for five minutes (generally about the hot Mexican weather, the crazy Mexicans or what boat and people that they know is anchored nearby) before the satellite phone or the Skype would cut out.
I would rest in peace for the rest of the week, glad to know she and my dad were doing fine and reveling in our little contact. It was a similar thing when I was backpacking in Europe or when I lived in New Zealand.
But now I am bombarded with constant calls - usually complaints - and backhanded compliments, like: "At least you have a wonderful boyfriend, a promising new career and a beautiful face."
This was her response to my own complaints about my recent weight gain.
And then there was the most recent development that my parents are going to sell their townhouse (why does my dad have to live on a golf course anyway?) in T-Town and move out to the False Creek area.
Um, that's literally across the creek from me.
An itty bitty patch of water is going to be the only thing physically dividing us. At any moment, my mom can hope on the freaking water taxi and putt putt over here.
Thank God I took my spare set of keys from her and gave them back to Ross.
However, not all is lost.
The other day, I invited my mother over to my apartment since she hadn't really been in the city since I moved in last August.
I went to work, came back, and I had a new apartment.
She reorganized the place from top to bottom! Instead of tossing my 50 pairs of shoes on the floor she had ingeniously placed them in the laundry basket, neat and tidy and out of the way.
"How will I do the laundry?" I asked, freaking out that she upset my "system."
"Use a garbage bag or carry them," was her response, "It's just down the hall."
I moved onto the hall closet, "Where are my hats and scarves???"
"In storage, you don't need them anymore."
I looked at the kitchen.
"What happened to the garbage bin full of old wine bottles and beer cans?"
"The empties have been recycled and the garbage bin is in the cupboard, where you now put your spare plastic bags."
"What happened to my Audrey Hepburn clock?"
"It's hanging on the wall like it should be."
"Where are my hundred copies of old People, Allure and US Weekly?"
"In the bookshelf, where they belong."
"Where are my extra toilet paper rolls and paper towels?"
"In the utility closet."
"I have a utility closet?"
"Yes, the place you were stuffing your clothes when you were to lazy to hang them up."
And so on.
In all my 8 months or so living in my place, it has never been so squeaky clean.
And now, a few days later, my place is a sty again. Magazines in the cupboard, bottles in the garbage bin, shoes all over my floor.
I'm gradually starting to see the merits of possibly having my mother close by.
Very gradually...
