Have you ever been paralyzed by the amount you have to do? So, instead of actually cleaning/doing laundry/knitting/sewing/what-have-you, you just sit around doing nothing? I literally have about a million things I could be doing, but here I sit, listening to a variety of cd’s I bought (the new Wilco, some Bob Marley and Gomez, and yes, I know I should have purchased them online and then made cd’s for the car/stereo upstairs, but again with the list of things to do…) perusing the internet, doing absolutely nothing on my list.

As I get older, my birthday means less and somehow more all at the same time. I think that having Ellen makes me realize how what we should really do on our birthday is send big bunches of flowers and diamonds and money and anything else of value to our mothers. I am continually amazed at what she has done for me in my life. All of the little things that I now realize will go largely unnoticed for a lifetime. All of the kissed owies, the sacrificed naps and painting time to herself (Mom is an artist), putting up with all of the CRAP my sister and I gave her most nights over what she was feeding us (which is food far better than we deserved if that was how we were going to be). Happy my birthday, Mom.

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