These kids today

There is no picture here, because none of dear Desiree's nifty little cartoon AnnaRays could capture my face right now. Imagine my hat popping off, my hair standing up, my mouth hanging open. And then add sound: Maybe the occasional, "Um . . . " Or "Wow." Or "Holy crap."

We've had a lot of news here recently in the little green house on 21st Avenue, as if we've fallen into some weird vortex of emotional happenings: My hearing isn't great, the search for sperm is proving a little frustrating, Judybat's grandfather isn't doing so well, etc. None of that, however, prepared us for the latest development.

Twenty-two years ago, my mother left my brother's father for the man I consider my stepfather. This week, she left my stepfather for my brother's father.

Let's take a second to let that sink in. . . .

Nope, that didn't work.

My mother is in the process of moving from south Florida to northern Washington state. Except for family pictures and clothes, she has left everything behind. On the doorstep of 60, she is making a complete, total, seismic change in her life.

I fell down when she told me. Fell down. Literally. I've got the raspberries on my knees to prove it.

I also cried. For quite a while.

Why? I'm not sure. On the one hand, it's not as if this affects my life all that much. It's not about me, or Judybat, or The Boy. If anything, my mom will be closer -- a mere four-hour drive away, as opposed to two flights stretching over an entire day.

And maybe she'll be happy. One of the few rules I try to live by is to never judge or try to understand other people's marriages -- god only knows there are people who probably wonder what the hell Judybat and I see in each other, given how different we can be. Still, I never quite got my mother's marriage to my stepfather. I worried that she was choosing stability over satisfaction, if that makes any sense. And I want her to be satisfied. Whatever makes her happy, that's what I want.

At the same time, my heart aches for my stepfather. It feels like someone died; just when I think I've gotten a handle on this, just when my mouth shuts and I think I've processed this, my brain conjures up some routine memory of family life over the past two decades. And I'm stunned and confused and on the verge of being a little weepy all over again.

Soon, I promise, shesaidshesaid will turn back into a routine if occasionally amusing account of our lives here in the PDX, rather than a constant display of our health problems, semen needs and family dirty laundry. Or, at least, that's what I hope happens. Soon.