blame game

I really don't want to be blogging right now; I'd rather be sound asleep. In fact, I tried to go back to sleep, but I'm all wound up. You see, I'd gone to bed kind of early (i.e. about the time I should go to sleep, given what time I get up) especially because I was tired from a long day-- metro delays on the way home, waken up early that morning by a selfish cat who started meowing outside my door before the proper time, etc. And this is why I need a kitty version of that parenting book-- I tried to reason with her, tried to explain that mommy needed her rest, couldn't just go back to sleep whenever, really needed to be with it at work, etc. But one can't very well explain that to a cat...

...nor, apparently, to one's mother. I usually shut off my phone when I go to sleep, precisely because my mother doesn't think twice before calling me at whatever hour, for whatever reason. I particularly should have known that she'd call me to go look at the eclipse-- she once made me get out of bed at 3am to look at the stars. Had I remembered about the eclipse, maybe I would have stayed up anyway, but I forgot, and was comfortably, warmly, in bed, asleep. Until mom called. And now I'm having trouble going back to sleep, and I'm increasingly bitter about it... because I'd like to be with it at work tomorrow... etc.

So before I realized that getting up and blogging was inevitable, I tried to clear my head of the indignity of it all. I asked myself whether it was really fair to blame my mother and my cat for my lack of sleep... and I thought, why not, mom tends to blame me for just about anything... which reminded me of the time we were in St. Petersburg for her reunion, at the reunion, and she discovered that she had forgotten to bring to the party a more elegant pair of shoes, and this was somehow my fault. She went on about how she packed those shoes on the trip specifically for the occasion, and I should have known that, and how could I have not reminded her. I tried to get her to let it go, because I thought it was rude to be in a side conversation when someone was making a speech, and sure enough someone had thanked her and other people who had come from afar, just as she was whispering to me angrily about how she couldn't believe I didn't bring her shoes. I elbowed her to get her to pay attention, but she was so engrossed in the shoe accusations that she elbowed me back and missed the point. I think eventually she realized what was going on.

This in turn reminded me of the time, after our last trip to Russia, when she blamed me for her losing her late mother's diamond earrings and ring. I believe I've blogged about this in the past so I won't go into great detail. To sum up, upon returning from Russia, she opened the fridge and discovered a greasy paper towel, and, taking it for gone-off food, disposed of it; later, she couldn't find the heirloom jewelry, and reconstructed in her mind that she must have wrapped in a paper towel and put it in the fridge as a clever hiding place. She went as far as to tell me that it was my fault that the jewelry was lost, since she had told me to remind her that she had put the jewelry in the paper towel, and I had failed. About six months later, she found the jewelry in the safe. I reminded her that she had blamed me for not reminding her that she had put it in a paper towel. Her response was, "oh, did I?" before changing the subject.

Anyway, I went to look at the eclipse. It was red. It's not that I don't care-- I'm glad I saw it; I loved Kenneth C. Davis' "Don't Know Much About the Universe" and actually everything I've read by him; it's that I'm really, really tired and it's proving hard to fall back asleep. But hopefully now that I've blogged, I can let it go.

***
Oh, one more recurring issue: my mother loves to find ways to point out that I don't cook well. A common tactic is to declare that there is a commercial, frozen version of whatever I've made that is far superior. She likes to say whenever she buys tiramisu from Costco or Trader Joe's that it's just amazing and everyone says it's the best tiramisu ever. I've had both of those and I'd refer to both as "coffee-flavored desserts" but would dignify neither with the term "tiramisu." Now, mine doesn't always turn out well, but when it does, it turns out really well, and at the last two anti-Valentine's Day parties it's been out of this world. And even when it doesn't turn out as well, it's still many times better than anything anyone can buy frozen. Which should go without saying. But for some reason, it's the opposite that mom just loves to say.

On that note, I really should go to sleep.