The job is far from rocket science, but every time before she leaves, Mom calls to give me twenty minutes of instructions. Then, when I get to the house, I always find a long note detailing again what I am supposed to do. This time, she added at the end, "Call me if you have any questions!" and included both her own and Step-Dad's cell numbers, thinking, I guess, that I might forget how to lift the top off the feeder or turn on the hose.
Elizabeth accompanied me on one of the trips and, after reading the note, remarked, "Your mother doesn't know who you are, does she?" At work, no one questions either my intelligence or sense of responsibility. Alas, for my mother, I will always be the five year old who insists on eating snow, despite the warnings that a dog might have peed in it.
Mom could't turn her back on me for a minute before I was scooping up a "lemon freeze" for Melody, my rotten little sister.
