Hello. It’s Belinda.
Happy Mother's Day to everyone who celebrates. I hope you get an extra treat or three today.
My advice is to eat the entire bag, if you know what I mean. "It's your day."
I have not seen my mother since I left New Zealand. Or any of my family, to tell you the truth. I assume they still live there.
The funny thing is I cannot remember much of anything from my childhood, including the flight to the United States. If my adoption papers did not include “New Zealand” I would have no clue that I’m a Kiwi-American.
My roommate doesn’t mention it. Just a slip-up now and then during the Olympics.
And that brings me to the topic of this blog.
I've been saving a big secret for today and let me tell you something. It has not been easy.
Because I’ve been “rolling” this around in my mind, over and over. Like a treat you are trying to hold in your mouth and not chew. It’s distracting.
It concerns my boyfriend’s companion. And yes I have permission to write about this. “From the source.”
One afternoon a week or two ago, I was in my office under the steps, working on email replies. When suddenly I hear my boyfriend’s companion yelling.
“Tell her I want a snacker!”
I ignored her. But about 30 seconds later, she does it again.
“Tell her I want a snacker!”
I stopped writing. Which is not efficient by the way and this is exactly why I am so behind in my emails. Interruptions.
I stretched my head around my office wall to see what was going on.
My boyfriend’s companion usually naps during the day. That’s because she’s wide awake at 2 a.m., “chatting” to me while I try to rest.
But there is one thing my boyfriend’s companion loves more than sleep and that is a treat. When she gets a craving for a pear-blueberry healthy snacker or a berry basil mini-cookie, that’s all she can think about.
And that’s why, on this particular afternoon, she was not dozing. Instead, she stood with her nose against the bars of her pen. Staring at me.
“Tell her I want a snacker! Use your email gadget.”
Now this was a bit shocking, to tell you the truth. Not to be rude, but I didn’t realize she knew there was such a thing as “email.” Or that I had my own account.
I don’t discuss office tech with her. Not appropriate.
But I tried to act casual.
“Tell who that you want a snacker?”
Then she said it.
“My foster mom.”
I stared at her for the longest time. I had no idea what she was talking about.
But then my roommate walked across the dining room and kitchen. We could hear her footsteps on the ceiling.
My boyfriend’s companion glanced up and then back to me.
“Her. Send her a message with your gadget.”
I was stunned. Had absolutely no idea what to say.
She thinks our roommate is her foster mom. My boyfriend’s companion thinks her stay here is temporary.
Now there is nothing wrong with being in a foster situation. But it changes the way you feel about things. Where you “hang your paintings,” if you know what I mean.
Or if you hang them at all.
I kept trying to reply but just like with my email messages, I was interrupted. But this time the interruption was from my own mind saying “Whoa now, Belinda. Don’t get involved in something you don't understand.”
So instead of blurting out something I might regret, I turned back to my office and walked to my stash.
I dug around until I found a banana healthy snacker. I carried it in my teeth across the room to my boyfriend’s companion, and offered it to her through the bars of the pen.
She stopped yelling after that. I tried to work on email but I couldn’t concentrate for the rest of the day.
I couldn't stop thinking about something and I think you know exactly what.
Spokesrabbit, Small Pet Select