Letter? What Letter?

My mother thinks she will win at this. There would be no other reason for her to waste a stamp.

She knows that it will not escape my attention that she has contacted my children covertly. And her lame attempt at reaching them on a personal level by telling that charming, nostalgic little story about riding the Wild Mouse with my father (Eeeewwww. That sounded even worse than it was.) misfired. They'd heard the story a hundred times. Once for every time we've ridden the damn ride ourselves. It is why we get the astonishly expensive picture printed in the first place. Because I've told them how she went on the ride with my Dad when they were dating despite being scared to death. (And how he ran down the dark, unlit boardwalk without her after getting out of the midnight showing of Psycho.) My Dad, the prankster. It amazes me she didn't scratch out at least one eye while they were still dating.

But Mom thinks she's got me beat. She'll show me! Two can play this game. She will have a forced relationship with my children without me, darn it! And their cat, too!

She's obviously made more of this than anyone else in the supposed pissing contest. Pat ended up using the letter as a coaster and Hil wrapped her gum in the return address part of the envelope. And it isn't like anyone asked for a piece of stationary so they could write a lovely return note and strike up a pen pal relationship with Estelle or Bill. It was really a non-event. One more tiny, imperceptible gesture from someone who has never bothered to be present in their lives before and who can't make up for lost time now. Especially with all the space and time in between.

And why would they bother to be open hearted? She blows in for a few days a year, doesn't make them a priority, acts like a two-year old when there is a conflict and yells at them for things she thinks it will help me to yell at them for. She has no idea who they are, their friends names, their interests, their very personalities. She's like a loud, intrusive, obnoxious exchange student who makes their mother swear under her breath and drink wine from Big Gulp cups.

But let Estelle think she's gotten to me this time. I could not be bothered to even raise an eyebrow over this. She has two more opportunities to put on a show between now and her birthday which I will creatively underacknowledge. First is Pat's birthday, and then Hil's. The expectations for Hil's 13th are high...It will be interesting to see how much hype Estelle feels she has to churn out to buy my children's hearts. Frankly, it's sad that she thinks it can be done.