Roots

My mother's 72nd birthday was yesterday so my youngest daughter, Baby Girl (who's 19 and hates that name) and I went to Mom's to celebrate and eat birthday cake.

My parents don't live very far away and I'm ashamed that I don't visit as often as I should.
We walked in to find my mother and her best friend happily shredding documents (?) with the brand new, paper shredder that Best Friend had given Mom for her birthday. Nothing was spared. Bills, flyer's, envelopes, and family recipes.
Mom and Best Friend live for those investigative reporting shows on TV.
I had brought pizza and was famished but Mom shoved my contribution aside and happily continued to shred.
I wandered nonchalantly into the living room and hissed at my dad that I was starved and could Thelma and Louise please stop for a moment and let us eat!
Dad, who's used to eating at 5 on the dot every night, was hungry too. He stomped into the kitchen and shortly thereafter, Best Friend departed and Baby Girl and I calmed the waters by explaining that we brought TWO pizzas and that NO there was NOT pineapple on both of them!

We had a nice time and pretended that we didn't see Dad sneak pizza to Kissy Poo, their Doberman Pincer, (who by the way is terrified of me!) under the table.
Another couple came by with a gift for Mom, and treats for Kissy Poo. Mom, once again demonstrated the paper shredder, and we continued to visit.
After tons of unnecessary reminiscing about what an awful child I'd been, what a wonderful child, my sneaky older sister had been, talk turned to politics and WWII.
My mother was a mere child during WWII but she has an abnormal obsession with it. I, for one, hate war and all war movies and watched, as she frantically rooted around, until she found an entire set of VCR tapes of the movie Band of Brothers for Baby Girl.
I found it necessary to once again wander into the living room and thankfully found a week old issue of USA TODAY to read.
Finishing the paper all too quickly, I went back to the kitchen, to find Mom, spoon feeding Kissy Poo (the cowardly Doberman) ice cream from her dish.
Mom's dish, not Kissy Poo's!
Just so you know, my parent's menagerie of pets receive; Christmas presents, birthday presents, and the 'Easter Beagle' visits every spring.
Mom was telling Visiting Friends that Kissy Poo has an appointment next week with the 'Doggy Dentist."
I ,who had buck teeth until the age of 24, (when I finally got and paid for braces on my own) said (in what I'm sure was a dangerous tone of voice) "What doggie dentist?"
Well, heavens! Mom was certain that Kissy Poo had a chipped tooth, and a chipped tooth can wreak havoc on a pet's health! (Far worse I'm sure, than going through High School with buck teeth!). And anyway, Kissy Poo's moon was in line with some planet, or asteroid, or something, and that didn't bode well with doggie dental issues.
I think that's when I started looking longingly at the door and remembered why I don't visit as often as I should.

We were halfway home when I realized I had never gotten around to asking Mom the question that's been burning in my mind these past few days.
Where is my slight feeling of insanity coming coming from? Could it be that perhaps our family tree had a nut or two hanging from it's branches?




I have no idea.
I guess I'll have to wait until my next visit to ask.