The Irony of Reality

One morning last week as I stumbled into the bathroom I saw this on the floor in front of the stool, no doubt left by Ron for me to see. I couldn't help but giggle, roll my eyes and appreciate the fact that HE appreciates the humor in this.

"It's been my biggest fear, Arthur, that you would turn into your mother."

Ron's mom, Betty, was about the age he is now when I first met her. I thought they had done more than break the mold on her . . . I thought they'd pulverized it. But, no. Seems like they saved a bit of it for Ron. AT LEAST once a week I say, either outloud or to myself, depending on the occasion that warrants it, "You are JUST like your mom." And he is!

From nodding off during a lull in the conversation to not fully comprehending what "take your time" means to stirring the living daylights out of a pot of whatever, he's Betty through and through. He's even starting to LOOK like her, but so far I've not caught him sporting a feathered hat or pocketbook (although come to think of it, Betty didn't wear hats. She DID have a pocketbook, though). It's mainly his eyes.

Another thing of which Betty was a master was having an answer for EVERYTHING. I'm not kidding. And she was pretty convincing about it. I'm not sure if she would be considered a master bluffer or a master bull you-know-what-er. Ron's the same way. Now, he knows a lot of stuff, like all the fouls in a basketball game or a hockey game. And how to rewire electrical fixtures. I think I know a lot of random things. He knows a lot of random random things. The only difference between him and his mom is that I'll call him out on some of his wildly exotic answers, but usually only if it's a matter of life and death - like when he says he doesn't really need to kill the power when he's rewiring things.

Betty's been gone about four and a half years. I really miss her, but it's kind of like she's still really here. And sleeping next to me in our bed.