Home Sweet Home

"If I ever need to be placed in a nursing home, I'd like it to be the one your grandmother was in at the end of her life."

"What are you talking about?" I asked my mother.

"Where I'd like to live if I ever need that sort of care," she said.

"We can't afford fancy nursing homes," I said. "We'll put you in a tent out back."

"Ignore him," said the Lovely Bride.

"I always do," said my mother. "He's being especially silly now. He knows very well I have a long term care policy."

"He doesn't like being talked about as though he's not in the room," I noted. "In any event, if I run the nursing home, the policy pays me. Ergo, the tent."

"Ergo, nothing," said my mother.

"We don't have a choice. It's simple ergonomics," I said.

She closed her eyes for a moment before turning to my oldest. "Do you have your passport?" she asked him. She's sending him to Australia and New Zealand this summer.

"I applied for it yesterday," he said.

"Have you received a full itinerary yet?" she asked.

"It's a gastrotour," I offered. "He's going to be sampling the local cuisine. Mutton. Koala. Peanut butter and jellyfish."

My mother closed her eyes again.

"I need a passport too," said the middle son. "One of my friends said I could go to Mexico with him in June."

"You don't need a passport if you're not coming back," I told him. "I think your friends are going to sell you to drug lords to finance the trip."

"Be quiet," said the Lovely Bride. "Why do you say things like that?"

"And why did you call Mrs. K. a b-i-t-c-h this morning?" my youngest asked.

The Lovely Bride turned on me like a mongoose. "What?" she demanded.

"You're a good little speller, buddy," I told the boy.

My mother's eyes were still closed. She took a deep breath.

"Mrs. K. is one of the nicest people we know," said the Lovely Bride. "What did you do?"

"Dad sent her a text message from Mrs. P.'s phone that said, 'Why are you being such a b-i-t-c-h?'" the youngest helpfully explained.

I patted him on the head a little harder than necessary and said, "Go watch the Olympics for a while."

"What were you thinking?" asked the Lovely Bride.

"It was Mrs. P.'s fault," I said.

"How?"

"She let my friend E. and me borrow her phone."

"How is that her fault?"

"She knows what we're like. Even her husband said it's her fault."

"Her husband's no better than you and E.," said the Lovely Bride.

"I know," I said. "He's hilarious."

"Does Mrs. K. know who really sent it?"

"Yeah," I said. "Mrs. P. told her and ruined the joke."

"Jokes are supposed to be funny," said my mother.

"I laughed," I said.

"That's because there's something wrong with you," said my mother.

"Careful," I said. "Tents can get pretty cold in the winter."

"Don't worry," the Lovely Bride told my mother. "Mrs. K.'s a therapist. She knows how to deal with him."

"A therapist," my mother replied. "Thank goodness he has one."