I've been trying to reach my mother all day.
My family is very casual about the holidays and since I'm an only child, I don't have to coordinate with any siblings about gifts or activities. I was just going to call her up, wish her a "Happy Mother's Day" and ask if she wanted to go out to lunch.
But she hasn't been home all day. And neither she nor my dad are answering their cell phones.
Aren't parents suppose to live for warm greetings from their children on these oh-so-special days?
So where are they?
Ben suggested that they are out celebrating Mother's Day with the dogs. The dogs, or rather their dog Augie, is the apple of my mother's eye.
Saying I'm an only child isn't quite accurate when considering my mom's attachment to her pets. Augie is the prince of the household, a neurotic dog who, to everyone's amusement is a pretty accurate mirror of my own personality. The family joke is that my mom managed to raise a daughter and a dog with the exact same neuroses.
Augie, like me, has an overwhelming need for justice; if our other dog, Annie, isn't eating her food he will go up to her and bark in her face. Augie is half sheltie -- half gestapo. If anyone isn't behaving in the manner prescribed by the authorities (my mom), he'll let them know.
Part of Augie's charm, though, is his peculiar insecurities. If my mom puts a canine-size hat on him he'll go in the corner and put his head down in embarrassment. Sometimes he'll leave the room because he "thinks" people are making fun of him. At least, that's the explanation my mom gives.
I guess part of the problem is that Augie has a hat in the first place.
Back to Mother's Day.
When I finally get a hold of my mother, I'm sure she'll tell me that Augie, like some sibling who always has the upper-hand, wondered why I hadn't called earlier.
