Our first yelling-at-each-other took place last night at 10pm.
She had got it wrong......again........ so this time I let rip, full throttle, we've barely spoken since.

I think I'll go back to wearing red lipstick not only because it's the only real lipstick any woman should wear but because it concentrates people's attention on my lips rather than on my weary lost-in-some-other-place- eyes.

Today I'm waiting in for the nurse so no shopping trip and for that I am truly grateful. Which reminds me of something I'm almost ashamed to tell you and that is my shameful adolescent hands-behind-my-back posture when gently telling Mother about my plans for the next few days.
It's a feeling I'm truly embarrassed about but one which told me in no uncertain terms just how fraught the whole mother/daughter thing has become. A 56year old woman wary of doing anything which might incur the wrath of mummy. How awful is THAT!

Still, we're taking her to London on Sunday and she says she's looking forward to it. We're not of course. I'd very much prefer to wash my dinner dishes while listening to Etta James. But we're hoping that as she struggles to carry her kettle to her sink she'll realize that life on her own is not an option.
And so...Back to my place, my home, where she doesn't want to be. No win for her, no win for me.

I'm making a cider chicken casserole today and as it braises I'll write a shopping list.
Simple precious pleasures.