TBT: Reprints from CJ's Whine and Cheeze

 In 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.

At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by.

Friday, February 23, 2007

Thursday's Child

The sun was shining and though cold, it promised to be a beautiful day. Dad's eye doctor appointment had been changed from 10am to an hour earlier, and I was unable to give him a ride. I pushed down the momentary guilt and reveled in the thought I had crossed an imaginary international date line and gained a day. Since I didn't have a Weeble run, I had an extra day to work on the roll call book. Yes, it promised to be a perfect day.

I told the Young One I would do some work on the book, and we could spend the afternoon at the mall having lunch and shopping. In the middle of lettering, the phone rang and on the fourth ring the call was sent to voice mail. Most times, these calls are from telemarketers and charities. On the off chance it was the Eldest calling for a ride home from work because another water main broke, I dialed into the voice mail and saw red. Steam poured from my ears.

Seems Ma wasn't happy with the bank telling her the $250 check didn't seem kosher, she called the scam man who issued the check, and gave him my phone number so he could talk to me! I felt the blood pounding in my ears. How dare she! How dare she put me in the middle of her OPD stupidity! I paced, cursed, and spoke in tongues. I said the eff word several hundred times.

Long ago, and through the hard way, I learned to continue with my work if I was unhappy or in a bad mood, was disastrous. The work came through my hands in ugly puddles and rivers and would only need to be redone. Since I was writing in a book, I couldn't take the chance pages could easily be removed in order to redo. No sense trying to work with flames shooting from my eyes.

Just as I collected keys and kid, the phone rings. No psychic or caller ID to tell me the call was from Ma. She danced around the reason for the call. I didn't mention her scammer had called earlier. Finally, she told me about that damn check. I old her she's never to give my phone number out to anyone.

"I don't care if the Pope himself wants my number. You're not to give it out! Do you understand?"

She whined the man told her the check was good, and she should cash it. She was like a dog worrying a bone and no amount of reasoning or cajoling was going to work.

"If you want to cash the check, cash the damn check!"

I felt the familiar throbbing behind my left eye. I was determined she was not going to spoil the rest of the day. I wasn't  able to work, but I could enjoy the afternoon with my kid. It was near lunch time and I told the Young One we were going to be very naughty. We were going to have ice cream for lunch and the world could go to hell in a hand basket. The Young One was thrilled.

The weather was sunny and pleasant for a winter day. There was a feeling of Spring in the air. We went to the ice cream parlor, and I was disappointed to find there were no tables to enjoy the decadent treat inside. I wasn't adventurous enough to eat my ice cream outside. No worries. I promised the Young One we would be naughty. We headed to the bookstore. I ordered cups of chai and a double chocolate cheesecake slice for her, and a heated cinnamon bun for me. I tried to concentrate on the delight of the Young One and not Ma and that damn check. I wished I could make the draft spontaneously combust or to find a way to reason with Ma. Thursdays' child has far to go. (I was born on a Thursday.)