h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Mom and I were never close. The nearest we ever came to being close was when we lived in the trailer in Kirksville, when I was 3 years old, and my Dad had gone in to Air Force basic training. We could make an hour drive to see my grandparents, but other than that, each of us was all the other had.

We would lay on the bed in her room, listening to the radio and singing together. We would wash dishes together. That was, in fact, how I learned the colors. Mom would wash a Tupperware cup and hand it to me to dry, and I would have to tell her what color it was. It's kind of weird--there are long stretches of my life, much more recent, for which I have no vivid memories, yet I have so many of life in the trailer, which was only about two years when I was very small. I remember Mom teaching me how to write my name. I remember coming into the living room one morning and finding a large stack of boxes. (This was right before my Dad came back and we moved to New Hampshire.) I had a yellow truck toy that I sat on and scooted around on, and it was on top of the boxes. I asked for it, but Mom said only Big Bird could bring it down for me, because it was up so high. I wondered how I could contact Big Bird... I remember pretending when Mom vacuumed that the vacuum cleaner was a thing that was out to get me, and that would eat my dolls.

I hardly see my Mom anymore. She comes and picks me up from school when I have a vacation, but during the whole 6-hour trip we hardly talk. We still sing together. But that's about it anymore.