Luck of the Irish

My mom still won't admit that she was a little drunk that time at the old neighborhood when we went over to the neighbor's and drank Skippies. "MOther. I have a highly trained, well-utilized Irish liver." "Oh, I know you do, dear," my mom said. "So," I reasoned, "YOU have a virgin liver that never gets to see the light of day. If I was tipsy, YOU were tipsy. Come ON."

These are the types of conversations I have with my mom. I am a PITA, she puts up with it. I am all crazy and overly dramatic and she's so...not. She just sort of laughs and shrugs and shakes her head, but I always know that she loves me and respects me even when she doesn't understand or agree with me, and how fortunate am I to have a mother like that? Very, and I know it.

She was out for a visit and the kids were sad to see her leave. "But next time I come out," she told them, "it will be to stay for good." In the car on the way to their dad's, after that conversation, the Girl said sadly, "Where's Gammy goin?" "Back to her house," I said, "but pretty soon she'll be moving up and then we won't have to say goodbye anymore."

"Hey!" the Boy said, "When Grammy moves in, that means you'll get to live with your Mom! For EVER! That is so lucky!"

"Yes, it is," I laughed.

"You'll get to live with your Mom for the rest of your life, until you're DEAD. And Grammy will get to live with you until SHE's dead! Because," he turned to explain benevolently to his sister, "one day, Gigi, everyone on the entire planet will be dead." "Oh, B," sighed the Girl.

"But you know, everyone is part of the same family," he mused. "I think that everyone is one family, but everybody moved away from each other, and now we all are away and think we live with our own families, and we don't know we're really all the same family. But we are."

My God, I thought. If he gets that, he's gonna be okay.