Good morning, my darling Miss Bingi, Thirteen-minus-two!
Eleven is a fine age to be, I think. Did I ever tell you, my dear little Poozik, how very proud I am of you? Sometimes in the big flood of talk about problems, difficulties, things that need improving, I forget to tell you that you are a beautiful, wonderful, miraculous Choozik. And that everything will work out wonderfully well! Sometimes I lose perspective and forget to have enough trust in God – in life – in me and in you. But I’m learning – and I love you with all my heart – which makes me learn a little faster than I might have.
So my dear delight, let’s take pleasure in each other’s company for soon the summer will be over and it’ll be a busy winter and then, guess what, the year of thirteen-minus-two will be over and the time of twelve will come to you. So let’s make some happy memories of our time together during the summer of eleven.
With all my love always,
P.s. I’m ready for a couple of games of “dourak” and gin rummy today.
Fun facts: I broke my legs and began 5 years in and out of hospitals as a cripple in Fall 1995, and my mother got diagnosed with Stage 4 Breast Cancer in Fall 1996.
I had an absolute garbage day today, culminating in me bursting into tears at my desk at 7:30pm, sobbing so hard with mascara tears down my cheeks that the cleaning team respectfully turned off their vacuum cleaners to give me space and silence. I needed comfort bad. This letter is the closest thing I could get to a hug from my mother.
Some days, I miss her awful.
You know the kind of bad day. The kind where the only thing you want to do is hide under the covers of your bed in your pyjamas, close your eyes and hope for it magically to be tomorrow. The kind where you go to the doctor’s for something that has been worrying you and you don’t get the answer of “yup, everything is good, see you never again“. The kind where you have a man cold, except you are woman so you have no choice but to suck it up and take dangerous levels of Tylenol Cold & Sinus. The kind where you are almost paralyzed by the amount of work you have to do. The kind where you just wanna call up your mommy and have her tell you its gonna be ok, except you can’t and it won’t.
So you decide to work from home, so you can at least wear non-matching socks and PJs, and have messy hair. But that isn’t enough to shake the overwhelming desire to cry, and ignore your work commitments. So your teddybears decide to step in and save the day.
Introducing Mimi and his brothers.
Working is a bit easier when I cuddle with Mimi, who has taken it upon himself to boss me around and ensure my productivity for the afternoon. #micromanager
P.S. Mimi wears that black shirt both for modesty purposes, to cover up his traces d’amour, and as mourning for my mother. True story, the day my mother died, after rushing to my parents’ home to be with my father, deal with the cops and the coroner, and advise family and friends of the news, I returned to my place to pack some stuff so that I could stay with my father for the week. Of course I brought Mimi. That was not a time for adulting. But as Mimi looked at me with his sad eyes, his little teddybody all pale and decrepit, it seemed appropriate to modify his appearance to suit the gravity of the situation. I wrapped him up in one of my black shirts. My father cried when he saw me with Mimi. Mimi opted to sleep with my father every night, for the first month following my mother’s death. Who says teddybears aren’t for grownups?
Like in any relationship, there are hiccups. Rough patches. Coffee and I are not speaking.
We’ve had issues before.
But today! Today, coffee was a real biatch.
On my way to work, walking and texting, I spilled all of my latte on my bright pink dress. I had to finish my commute looking like someone took a dump on my crotch.
At the office, I rushed to the washroom to unsoil myself. Cue half a morning looking like I had peed myself. At least that made anatomically more sense. Once my dress dried, I realized I now had water stains and washed out coffee stains. So I went on a hunt for Tide-to-go. Found some after basically showing the entire office my disgraceful state and set myself to work to clean myself up.
Its been two hours. The stains are still there. I sure hope coffee has not wrecked my dress. My beautiful, sexy, bright, professional pink dress.
Coffee hasn’t apologized yet. Coffee seems to feel I am ungrateful for all the times coffee has saved my unproductive, exhausted self from getting fired for napping at my desk. Pffffft. Coffee. REAL friends don’t keep tabs on each other, sheesh.