I started a post about some random facet of motherhood, but then my own mother called and interrupted my flow. There was mainly talk of what curtains will grace the bedroom we'll be staying in - the theme is early Victorian (overload) in case you're interested.
In lieu of that waylayed post, I feel I simply must tell you the latest Aunt Florence tale. Oh, how I love to recount the stories. This woman is unparalleled, she really is. I refuse to believe there is another woman this functionally insane in existence.
In a recent visit with my Mom, Aunt Florence was on the prowl for more illicit items to assume. My Mom is strangely proud of her aversion to tidyness, which is why her house must be an inexhaustable treasure trove of possibilities to old Aunt Florence. Florence's keen magpie-like eye found a ring which she had to procure. In fairness, she did tell my Mom that if the ring disappeared, the culprit would be easy to figure out. I love her boldness - she doesn't even ask for shit anymore, she just tells you she's going to take it. She's aware that my Mom treads around her delicately thanks to The Crazy, so she just goes for it. Guess what couldn't be found after she left that weekend?
Young Molly tells me about her family sometimes, and they sound so delightfully normal. I love all of The Crazy in my family, but sometimes a bit of sanity and non-old sock stealing behaviour wouldn't go amiss.