She also took charge of the turkey and and took in stride the assistance of Uncle Bill, who has become extremely enthusiastic about cooking since his retirement.
This was a follow-up to last week's Resurrection/Birthday Fiesta she and Greg arranged for 42 friends: margaritas, salsas, beef and/or veggie soft tacos, chicken tortillas. All from scratch.
Monica says: "It's like I've become the mommy and you're the baby." How true. And there's nothing she seems to like more than saying things like: Mommy stop! Just stop. Do NOT lift that. Do not DO that.
And she has to do this often because I am impatient to be well. To forget this episode. To be able to rearrange the pots of this and that in my conservatory without constantly having to ask for help. The best I can muster is a Nero Wolfian snip snip at my orchids, and then I need a nap.
While this ennui might seem to be stylistically very similar to my usual general laziness -- snipping at the orchids and then hoping someone will come along to clean up the debris--it is not. What we have here is a partially drug induced fog that has knocked the legs out from under me. (By the way, I only say partially because I don't know what all else is involved -- it might well be entirely drug induced).
I don't know if I'm happy or sad that at 25, my baby can replace me. She doesn't have ALL of my tools yet (which I have to say because I know she'll read this and need to be slapped down), but she has a very good sense of what she needs to do to get them. Just as, it thunderously occurs to me, I did at about her age. Recognizing that I had so incorporated the essence of my mother that I knew she would always be with me.
So I'll crawl out on a limb and say: On the whole I think I'm pleased.
A decade or so ago my sister Bonnie said, "She's just like you! But better." It looks like that assessment is probably well on the way to being so.
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