You're A Part Of Me

For as long as I can remember, my mother has had dry cracked heels. I remember her using a pumice stone every night by her bed. Sometimes she would have to pumice so much that there would be a little pile of skin dust on the floor by her bed.

I can't remember how old I was, old enough to remember this story but young enough to be extremely gullible (so, probably 17 or so...!!), but one night I walked into her room to talk to her. I saw a little pile of white powder on the wood floor. I asked her if it was sugar. She said, "I don't know, why don't you taste it and see?" Then, as now, the promise of sugar won out.

So when I say that my mother lives on in me, you can take that to the bank.

Happy birthday, Mother!


P.S. My mother's sadism was passed down to most of her children. It appeared in Eric, when he told me to put the "big ice cube" (read giant salt ball) from the homemade ice cream machine into my mouth, and in Andrew when he made me lick his big toe before he'd give me a Chocodile. Oh, and also when Andrew told me to put my face down by the garbage disposal when the dishwasher started running, because something "magic" was going to happen. (Amy somehow escaped the sadism gene.) I'm sure my children will write a similar blog post about me in 10 years...