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Bow to the master.

I’ve already and always considered my sweet S.O. as someone possessing extreme patience but I hadn’t really considered how patient until he had to see me every single second of every day. Granted, just moving, in and of itself, is enough to throw someone over the edge but moving in with someone is enough to throw the most stable person into a full blown tizzy. Considering how I, and the little people in my head, are usually teetering on the edge as it is, I think I’m doing pretty good.

However, he has been spending a whole lot more time at work and now is hitting the gym after that. I suppose that 24-Hour Fitness really does mean just that, but who knows.

But recently, as I’m tooling happily around what is now “our” house to me, “whatthefuckhaveIdone” to him, I’ve been obsessively cleaning, putting things away, avoiding things that really need to be done,  worrying about my cat because he’s sleeping now 21 hours a day instead of his usual 20 hours, acquiring and scratching at what looks like a million bug bites all over my body, talking in my sleep, and audibly whining when I don’t remember doing it. You know, normal shit… he actually asked me, “Do you do this all the time?”

I said, “What? You mean walk around and talk to myself? Of course.”

“I, um, I don’t know.”

“Could be worse, I could be my dad. He cruises around all day long whistling, singing, then suddenly arguing with himself and then goes right back to whistling again.”

“…”

“What? You don’t…? Is that weird?”

“No. I…um. Okay, baby.”

“I think my cat is sick.”

“Of course, babe. He’s fine.”

“I think he’s sick, I mean, he’s like all… oh my God, I forgot to tell you, never mind…you know what’s weird? I was talking to…”

–both parties file separately out of the room. One still talking, the other locking himself quietly in his office.–

I had no idea that this was unusual.

Apparently, it is. It’s not unusual to me because I’m my father’s daughter. Wandering around muttering to people that aren’t in the room, actually arguing with them, and then supposedly making amends with them all in a span of 10 seconds is NOT a normal thing shared by all. In fact, I’m surprised people haven’t called us out on it more. Then again, I get that they were probably afraid to.

Or things such as making up nations, full with their own languages, maps, and currency, (Before you ask, yak calves. Yes, baby yaks were the currency of this fictitious nation he made up) and pitting your children against one another to compete in its national sport, was NOT a normal thing for fathers to do in most families. Who knew? Not me.

So, to sum up: Sorry, Dad, this actually is NOT a tribute to you.

Don’t get me wrong. You are, in every way, an inspirational role model, hero to family and nation, man of honor and strength. You’re also bat-shit crazy. Thank God.

However, the true hero in this legion of on-the-cusps is the woman who not only married your brilliant insanity but stayed married to you for 50+ years, gave you two female replicas of you, raised them, too, and still stayed sane.

All hail Mom. Now THAT is a true American hero.

Happy Mother’s Day, again, Mom. You deserve it. Celebrate it on Father’s Day. Dad already has his audience.

Love to you both,

Mo

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