She has, since she is my mother, flattering things to say about this blog.
Goodness me. At least she and I are agreed in our conspiracy to Keep Things On the Q.T. Where Dad Is Concerned. Mom said, when I mentioned that I was just a little freaked out about her reading stuff, "I am sixty-seven years old. Whatever you've done, I've either done or imagined. Relax."
Then she said, "You've been getting some rain lately, huh?"
Yes. Yes, we have, as a matter of fact. Hurricanes are good for that. She made sure that I could get a change of scrubs at the hospital (the neighborhood around the hospital flooded horribly the other day; people weren't able to get to the highway), and then asked:
"And you have a clean pair of underwear with you, right?"
My jaw dropped. Mom actually did a Momlike thing, asking me if I had clean undies. After all, she pointed out, what would happen if I were to be in an accident?
I think Mom's tongue will have to be surgically removed from her cheek.