the wrong side of the bed

i spoke to my mom last night about my heart murmur. she reminded me that immediately after i was born, my parents drove from connecticut to texas to show me off to the grandparents. okay, that's sweet and all, but i was born with a fucking heart murmur! the doctor told my parents to take me to the hospital if i cried a lot and turned red or if i stopped breathing. so my parents jumped in the car with their 4 year old and their one week old and drove to texas. my mom said that every time i cried, she wanted to go to a hospital. thanks, ma. i'm almost glad we didn't stop at every hospital in appalachia or east texas. anyway, they took me to my dad's pediatrician in dallas and the hospital where my aunt worked in mcallen. i was fine. good thing, or i'd be pretty pissed at my parents. or dead.

anyway, speaking of taking steps closer to the grave, it was reba's birthday on tuesday. i told my mom about it. she said that 39 was hard for her. it made her feel quite old, but that 40 was no biggie at all. she's 59 now. she said it feels sort of like being 60 two years in a row. i was suprised my mom even cared how old she is. worrying about aging seems sort of vain to me. i do it, but i'm sometimes vain. my mom, on the other hand, seems completely outside of that world.

my grandmother is probably about 87 years old. i'm not sure. she is the awesomest person ever. there is no one who doesn't like my grandmother. she chain smokes, watches c-span all day, and rarely bathes. she likes to putter around her house and garden and complain about republicans. anyway, she and my mom were talking this weekend and she told my mom, "god is overrated." you probably can't picture it, but i can. my grandmother is seriously cute, by the way. seriously.