Dear Diary...

Here's me and Fidel, Jami's dad, having a private moment at work.

Just checking in. It's really late and I'm half asleep. Mom is brain-dead. Today was her birthday, you know? WOO HOO...!! Big "SIXTY-TWO". She says "Whew, it's about time! I worked hard to earn the title of "Little Old Lady"!" She says she gets into movies for half-price, gets Senior citizen discounts, and can order off the kiddie menu (except the restaurants call it a senior menu).

Her family and her friends sent her cards and gifts and called her up or emailed her, and she got sung to (sang to?) and stuff. She says she'd NEVER ever want to go back even if she could unless she was absolutely guaranteed that there was a permanent cure for gravity and cellulite. She says there isn't anything she'd want that's any different from what she has now. And that she's finally found "peace, tranquility, and contentment". Big words to me, but what do I know. I'm happy when I find a cat to chase.

News flash: About yesterday when I wasn't feeling so good, I just want to say that today was really awesome. I feel fine, ate well, tummy processed food according to plan and (etc etc). I got belly rubs and cuddles all day long. Aunt Margie brought us a pizza and an ice cream cake. I got some pizza, but the ice cream cake sort of melted because it got put into the fridge instead of the freezer. Still, Mom had a slice which was more like a splat into a dish, and said you gotta have cake on your birthday. Even if you have to scoop it up with a spoon.

OK..that's it. I'm off to bed. Happy Birthday, Mom. I love you.

Mary-Margaret