The children all had "Oh, my God, I'm so bored" looks on their faces when they came in. I'd like to think that we gave them a better alternative to sitting in front of their Playstations all afternoon for yet another vacation day, but who really knows? They did seem to get a kick out of confusing Stubborn Old Broad with their answers to, "What are some of your favorite things?" She had no clue what a Pokemon was, so they seemed to relish shouting out all the different monster names while she looked on in a daze.

The project was to create a collage of their favorite things, later to be placed in a "time capsule" (read "paper towel tube"). Hey, what do you get when you put six seven-year olds at a table and ask them to draw their favorite things? You get six pizzas, six plates of cookies, six Pikachus... Originality has no place in today's youth.

Tidbit: One little boy had no idea what to draw.

Me: Do you like pizza?
Him: Nope.
Me: French fries?
Him: Nope. I like miso soup.
Me (faintly): Oh?
Him: And tofu! I love tofu!

In the second session, I got to talk to the kids before Stubborn Old Broad got to the room. I warned them ahead of time about her Pokemon Deficiency, and they laughed themselves silly. These kids, though, were more musically inclined, and were more pleased to fill the air with cries of "Backstreet Boys!" and "N Sync!", neither of which were more familiar to S.O.B. One boy felt the need to be different from his peers, and proudly proclaimed his favorite band to be, "Queen!"

Eric's mother is sick, too, and back in the hospital. The poor woman has only one lung, and she continues to smoke in secret. Last year, a bad case of bronchitis almost killed her, and now she's down with it again. Bryan, who lives near their parents, says it's not so bad this time, but I know that Eric is scared out of his mind.

Rita has one of the worst addictions to cigarettes that I've ever seen. She remembers Eric, in utero, kicking ash trays off of her pregnant belly; she's seen multiple family members die from cancer. She even witnessed Eric, her baby, get hooked on cigarettes at college, only to be scared into quitting by the discovery of pre-cancerous lesions in his mouth a few years ago. Nothing shakes her. She hides her smoking from everybody, running frequently to the bathroom, only to emerge in a cloud of perfume and breath spray with a guilty expression on her face.

I don't know what would make her finally stop, but I get the feeling that there's nothing this side of the grave that could succeed. Maybe grandkids would? Eric and I have agreed that we don't like the idea of leaving our children alone with her, not because she'd smoke around them, but in case she would leave them alone while she ran off to the john for a quick smoke. I don't really believe she'd be so lax, but it's very possible with her. I don't want to have to lay such an ultimatum, though: quit with the smoking, or never babysit your grandkids. Aagh! It's a good thing that Eric feels similarly, so that he can be the one to discuss the matter with her.

Or perhaps I'm worrying to much. Maybe she'll finally find the strength to quit with this bronchitis episode! Anything's possible, I suppose. And in the long run, I'd rather have her alive and smoking than the alternative.