Ya Gotta Be Sweet, Pickle

"So there's this guy named Freud, and..."
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       I'm turning forty in a few weeks. Yesterday, while The Gummer and I were discussing my life insurance policy and plans for Jack in the event of my untimely demise, she suddenly announced, "If I go into a nursing home, this house is going to be sold!"
      I stared at her. She was making Lemon-Sucking Only-Child Face again. How very productive.
      "Mom, don't go throwing shit onto the fire if it isn't going to burn."
      "That doesn't even make any sense!"
      "Of course, it doesn't." I paused and pictured her heaving a microwave onto a bonfire.
      "Okay, so my student loans would be forgiven. That's a plus..."

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       "Is it raining yet? I need it to rain within the next thirty minutes."
       "You're the one who wanted him to play baseball." She makes a face like a pig backing away from a bad smell. I wonder if they teach that as a debate tactic in law school.
       "Were you 'Sunshine' in the arrangement?" My parents had called each other 'Sunshine' and 'Moonbeam'.
       "Yes."
       "How did you get to be 'Sunshine'?"
       "Because someone loved me." She glittered.
        I did not:
       "And I guess 'DoomCloud' would have made a weird pet name."

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      "Mom, why is the sea salt grinder sitting out?"
      "It turns, but nothing comes out."
      "I don't know what it is that you find so vexing about that sea salt grinder."

      I go into the kitchen and investigate. There is nothing wrong with the grinder...if you take the lid off.  I go back into the living room.

      "I think it's my arthritis."
      "Look, Mom. You just hold this part and twist this part. It's like giving a really lame hand job. You know."

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      It can't all be snarky. You have to add a little sugar to the vinegar if you want to be sweet, pickle:

      Last night, I went to kiss my sleeping kid, and he said something about being at a party. His eyes flickered. I asked him who was there, and he sat up a little bit and answered me in whatever language he speaks in his dreams. I sat there for a while and talked to him about it even though he was asleep, his little eyes flickering with the work of it all. The Gummer came by, too, and, for a minute, we were all there at a little party in Jack's mind.

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