Mom Diaries: Press "3" for Dead Mom

Yesterday morning, Mothers Day Brunch. Blair, Mom, and me are sitting around the dining room table, nibbling on the last of the rum-soaked tropical french toast Blair had prepared. We were talking about Blair and my upcoming trip to Russia. Mom asked if we were going to see Lennin's body. We are not. I don't want to take a 14-hour flight just to look at a corpse. 

The conversation then somehow turned to what we all want done with our bodies upon our deaths. Blair and I both want to be creamated, and Mom reminded us that she wants her body donated to science. She'd registered herself as a donor earlier this year. 

"It's simple," she said yesterday. "You just make a phone call and they handle everything. They'll come pick up the body, transport it, and send you the cremated remains of what they don't use. You don't have to do a thing and it's free." 

"Well where is this magic phone number?" I asked. "You need to have it ready because I don't picture me taking the time to dig through your paperwork looking for it with a dead body in the house."

"I don't think this is appropriate Mother's Day conversation," said Blair. 

"No, no, it's fine," said Mom, waving away his concern. "Dena, I'll find the number and set it out." 

I snorted laughter. "What?" asked Mom even as Blair shook his head.

"Sorry," I said. "I was just thinking I could, you know, put the number in speed dial. So I'll be ready..."

Blair groaned and Mom and I burst out laughing. "Mom's dead," she said, wiping her eyes. "Press '3.'"

"Or you could do voice recognition," said Blair, who apparently decided if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. He mimicked holding up a cell phone and speaking slowly and distinctly into it. "MOM'S DEAD." 

"Did you say, 'bed head?'" I asked, imitating the monotone of the phone recognition software.

"No. MOM'S. DEAD." said Blair. 

"Did you say, 'Mark's Head?'"

"No. DEAD. MOM'S DEAD." 

"Calling, Mom's Dead." 

We were all in tears, we were laughing so hard. 

Anyway, that's what passes for Mother's Day around our house. Hope yours was love and fun filled as well!

Cheers,

Dena 

Smug Marrieds: Random Post

Cleaning off my desk today, I found I note I'd made to myself this past winter for a blog post. Blair and I are the typical couple in that I'm always cold and he's always hot. We're in a constant battle over the thermostat and when we'd go to bed in the winter, I'd complain about the sheets being freezing cold.

I've always wanted flannel sheets but Blair protests that he'd flat out melt in the bed if we got them. So we go to bed one chilly winter night and I'm kicking the sheets with my legs, trying to generate a warm spot. 

"If you ever die, I'm getting flannel sheets," I said. I turned and smiled at him. "Do you ever think about things like that? Like the small, simple changes you might make if I died?"

A slow grin spread across my husband's face. "Daily." 

Huumph. I think I remember now why I decided not to post this...