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Sometimes I wonder if Crazy D actually leaves the country at all when he says he’s going off ‘to work’. I know the man works, but still, sometimes I wonder if he’s just messing with The Mom’s mind.

Especially since he’s back living at her house more or less full time these days. When I lived there, full time, there were days when I wished she didn’t know exactly where I was at any moment in the day. Even if I went out for a walk, which, given my poor state of health, she had a pretty good idea of where I was, because I couldn’t go far. I mean, that year, I was never far from a bathroom. So if I decided to go for a walk shortly after I’d eaten, or what passed for me as eating that year, she knew full well that I wouldn’t venture further than a five minute run from her house. But the idea that I could be somewhere and she didn’t know, that I would again by just one of many in a big old crowd, well, it had a certain appeal.

I imagine Crazy D, holed up at some nice hotel, somewhere in Toronto, or possibly the shiftier end of our hometown, just watching TV and enjoying the peace and lack of questions. Ordering up room service, or going out in search of whatever health food he’s craving.

I must admire him though. He’s a good traveller. Now. When we were young, as I recall, and by recall I mean, judging by The Mom’s stories, he and I were not the best travellers. You could easily get us to an airport and put us on a plane, but after that, well, let’s just say it was a mixed bag. The Mom like to regale people with the story of how fascinated we were with the free water and little paper cups that used to be had on airplanes. Apparently, that occupied us for most of the five hour flight from Toronto to San Francisco. Good job too, as L’il Sis was only wee then and had to be tended to and fed and kept from screaming for the duration of the flight. Needless to say, The Mom had her hands full.

Since Crazy D has left for this particular job, I get emails from The Mom asking if I’ve heard from him. This is because she thinks he has time to send a text from wherever it is he happens to be. When I remind her that L’il Sis has a phone that can receive texts as well, she just shrugs and says that she hasn’t had word from him either. I don’t really follow her reasoning, why he would text me – who lives in England – rather than my sister, who lives in the house with them all, but there you are. She just wants to know he’s okay.

Well, that and she wants to hear stories. Most mothers go to the supermarket not only to buy groceries, but to run into the other mothers in their neighbourhood and brag about their children, while pretending to buy lettuce.

Oh, Jimmy’s just bought himself a new car. Or, Tracey’s just got engaged. Or, Brent has this great new fancy job doing something that can be explained in five words or less.

But, with us being us, and The Mom being The Mom, the conversation is a little bit different.

Well, my son is somewhere doing something right now. It’s all very exciting. We have no idea when he’ll be home, but every time something goes bump in the night we think it’s him!

Or, oh, my eldest daughter lives in London. Did I mention she has a PhD? She does. It’s Creative Writing and English, but still, a Doctor!

Or, yes, your new dress that cost a lot of money does look nice. Oh, you like mine too? Thanks, my youngest made it for me. It’s so hard to find things in shops these days.

Because all Moms and Mums need something to brag about. We kids ain’t cheap and we’re often a lot of trouble, so at least we can be decent enough to provide some good stories along the way. Which is partly why I don’t believe The Mom much when she gets all Where’s Waldo about Crazy D’s current location. She knows he’ll turn up again eventually. We all do.