I’m at my Mom’s house.

Something about stepping across the threshold of her sterile clean house is like finding myself back in time, a teenager again. The fact that I’m all grown up with kids of my own is meaningless, a strange anachronism here.

It’s Easter, and that’s my mom’s mean time of year. I don’t know why. She just gets real bitchy at this point in the year. I think she really, really resents that Easter is so many months far away from Christmas, and so our visit has been so long awaited. She’s thinking: and for what? We didn’t even bring her any presents.

What’s in it for her, huh?

This troop of mayhem and mess, cooking and egg dyeing mess, so many little bodies. Don’t break the glass knickknacks…

…TO BE CONTINUED….