Apr. 11th, 2012

She talks to me on the phone pretty well, although I think it's just a dim memory of me and the fact that I at least talk at her with reasonable frequency that lends her a level of comfort.

So last night, my ex-daughter-in-law called me and asked if I wanted to Skype, and naturally (or as the grandzootlet told me the other day, Duh) I did.

My god, she's gotten big. Apparently she isn't as tall as she looks to me; the XDIL says that she's about in the middle of the height range for her kindergarten class. She will be six in a few weeks, and the mind boggles.

I have finally made progress toward getting back in shape, albeit not a huge amount, no pun intended. So far, 22 lbs down and until I caught an annoying virus last weekend, doing a brisk treadmill session of thirty or more minutes a night. Unfortunately, I still want to lose 30, so it's relative, but I can feel the difference, not just in my clothes, and that's to the good. Heh, I figure that since I'm out of Minnesota and out of all fandoms, I'll win this one. On the hilarious side, because, apparently, of how fit I started before gaining the weight, and because I never did stop exercising, even with the fibro, my bottomses are smaller than my topses, even after the breast reduction. So the difference in pant sizes is only about 1 1/2, while the difference in shirt/top/tunic sizes is nearly 3. This is alien to me because while I have apparently turned into an apple, I used to be a pear. :cackles:

But I've had three people who aren't good friends be shocked when I say my age and tell me that I look ten years younger than I am. I'm bemused, and also reasonably pleased by that. Not because I 'don't look that old', per se, although that's nice, too, but because it means I don't look nearly as haggard as I thought I did. It's really hard for me to assess age anyway; back in the day, we could recognize a grandmother at fifty paces, but things have changed. A co-worker of mine told me that sixty is the new forty, and since he's well under the forty, I'm both amused and bemused by that. He might, of course, be right. My second great grandmother died when she was seven years younger than I am now. My grandfather died a year younger than I am now.

And, of course, Mom died this year. I can actually say it without having a flood of tears or anger, so I guess the stretch of time actually does numb you. Mind, for no reason this morning, I heard her voice in my head telling me hi in the way she always did, and nearly lost it while brushing my teeth. Or the other day, loading the dishwasher, I had one of those, oh, I have to remember to tell that to Mom moments, and lost it. I'm not sure that's ever going to go completely away, but that's actually okay. I'd be more worried if I didn't feel anything.

My first stepmother, bless her, sent me a very kind email expressing her sympathy, which I know was a bit difficult for her, but which does explain why I have a relationship with the woman that is genuinely affectionate, considering she was kind of like Cinderella's stepmother when she was actually my stepmother. In a way, it's like my relationship with J, my ex. Sure, he was a terrible husband to me, but aside from his right wing politics and religion (which I admit, is pretty big), he's grown up a lot and is a much better husband to his wife now. I could take that with bitterness, of course, and dwell on the fact that it took him that long to learn how to grow up, but I prefer to focus on the fact that he did. It somewhat reassures me that my judgement wasn't really terrible, that at least some of the good qualities I thought I saw were there, even if the Air Force didn't exactly encourage those qualities to develop. Fighter pilots, go figure.

Stepmothers, too, I suppose. We've been corresponding a bit and I finally told her that she definitely had to stick around as long as her mother, who seriously will be 104 next May, because my heart and mind won't handle another loss.

I mean, seriously, people. Who has three mothers and loses 2 of them within less than a decade? My dad, understandably, is having a tough time, and I'm already scared to death we'll lose him. Feh.

All that considered, I'm pretty freaking tired.

I put a new comforter on the bed yesterday and it freaked Rosita Bonita right out. She kept walking around and under the bed, complaining and questioning. Claire got right up and curled behind my hip, but not Rosita. She was sure it was going to eat her or something. Still, I had put the kitty snuggle fleeces on the foot of the bed, so she finally did get up and snuggle into one, but it was really pretty hilarious.

Kids and cats, oh, my.

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wickdzoot

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