Work shadowing…
She got on fine, thank god. Four guys working in the place so I assumed there was lots of hair flicking and flirting going on. She claims there was niether. She had to clean tables , wash up and sort the sugar out. I have no idea what ’sorting the sugar out’ but for me with my over active imagination, it sounds like something from a mafia film. As a result of being on her feet for most of the day,she was exhausted yesterday evening and straight into her jammies and onto the computer. I’d be worried if we arrived home and she was on the couch reading or something. Its either the computer or digital tv with its 24 hours of Will and Grace or Charmed. Sometimes I feel like those witches are living with us and when I’m making tea I wonder if Phoebe would like a cup too.
Things were going quite smoothly until a texting conversation resulted in all hell breaking loose. She only gets to see the boyf once , maybe twice a week so understandably she would get annoyed when he cancels cause he wants to hang with his best mate. I will take her side in any argument with someone outside the family, its called a blood link! So, the texts go back and forth and she works herself into a tizzy so much so that when Mammy2 heads into the room with a cup of tea for her, she’s sobbing on the bed. In this situations I am about as useful as a straight man at a lesbian orgy. Seriously, I do not know what to do. I put my hands in my pockets and offer to make tea. Mammy2 has her wrapper up in her arms and is saying all the right things. I pace. It works for a while except I get dizzy. I offer chocolate whilst Mammy2 tries to find out what caused the upset.
She’s sick of the way his band always comes first over everything and he sent back a bitchy text about her being paranoid or something and she lost the rag and a few catty txts flew back and forth.
I will never understand the txting relationship, if I was having an argument and I couldn’t be face to face with the person, then the next best thing would be a phone conversation. But no, she was intent on txting. More words of comfort from Mammy2, a line of cups of tea from me, hey I can be hepful. We left her to sort things out over text whilst we awaited the outcome of it in the safety of the living room, each of us grabbing a book as we prepared for a long night of analysis. She plodded out of the room eventually with a lump of tissue sticking out of her nose as her eyes looked tiny between all the redness. She calmed down a lot and sorted things out. The boyf eventually rang and by the time she’s finished talking to him she was ready to be tucked into bed. Thank god. The drama of it all. I hope the boyf is prepared to get walloped when he comes up at the weekend.
In other news, its production week so Mammy2 will probably be doing a bit of work this week. Ahem. Its been quite strange these last few days as well. I’ve been thinking of Mam a lot. Not that I don’t think of her a lot, like she’s the mammy, of course I think of her a lot but usually I have loads of things on or to-do so I don’t dwell on all that happened. Lately, with a few of my other work projects starting to wind down I find I have more time on my hands to stop and think and I wouldn’t be a fan of it. Its hard to put into words how much you can miss someone so much. So I won’t even try.
There are so many things I want to ask her, about how we’re doing with the kid, are we doing the right thing? Are we doing a good job? What would she do differently? Is she peeved she’s up there and not down here? I would be, but she’s a lot more easy going then I am. Are we giving the kid too much pocket money? Did we organise the funeral okay? Am I looking after the family alright? Did Bob Marley really go to heaven and if so is she chasing him around the place. Enough of the meanderings about Mam, or I shall rename this blog The Mammy. Hey, that’s not a bad idea. She was such an amazing woman, one could write a book on her if there was time to spare. But alas, I have web sites to work on and potatoes to eat. That and I don’t have the stamina or the inclination to write a book.
