Of Boys and Branches
My heart grew today. I know it.
I was so completely aware of how amazing my son is.
For me, the measure of my success as a mother is the fact that he not only wants to spend time with me – but that he’s such a pleasure to be around.
We laughed so much, we always do – we waxed philosophical and we worked side by side.
He took me along to feed and water his girlfriend’s horses – with care and diligence for the animals and the task.
While there, he showed me his ‘fort’, which was actually an amazing puzzle of branches in the most photogenic wooden criss-cross of brush.
“Put your foot there – the other one there … sit here, on the trunk. Lay back, look up. Isn’t the sky beautiful through the branches?”
“Yes.”
When did he become such a good driver?? I found myself not watching the road.
We spoke while he drove … of the moon, whether sperm have souls, road rules and safe sex.
“I want to teach you what I can before my time runs out – before you stop needing me.”
“I still need to learn how to ‘adult'”
My thought pattern stuttered and tripped over itself. The sentiment behind those words wasn’t lost on me. I was still needed. I recovered with a “Me too.”
We’ve become this team – unbreakable.
On one of the drives home I made a distracted sound.
“What?”
“Having so many thoughts right now, I couldn’t even pin one down for you under my thumb to look at – not even by a wing.”
“I’m definitely growing up weirder than most …”
“That’s a good thing – don’t let your weird go.”
The Business Trip
Business trip.
It sounds so important and jet-setty doesn’t it?
“Oh my goodness I still have to pack for my business trip.”
or
“I’ll be out-of-town those days … you know … on my business trip.”
I was given my hotel reservations – my rental car reservation and the company credit card.
Was still feeling pretty grown-up and important at that point.
I then shared what car was reserved for me with my mom – who, after showing some interest and googling it – found an article that mentioned there was really only enough room to put habitrail tubes in the trunk. Yeah … the hamster kind. And yes, the car review really, truly said that.
I did not care. As long as it ran, was newer and safer than mine, and I wasn’t paying for it, I was going to love it. Even if it came with a box of live hamsters that had to accompany me on my ‘business trip’.
I did insist on GPS though.
I am VERY geographically challenged. And I have no interest in becoming less geographically challenged. I only have so much memory left, I don’t need to take up remaining brain space with such things.
It’s not likely I’m going to be on a high-speed chase advising dispatch that the perp is now ‘headed South Easterly on Main Street’ now am I? Is ‘Easterly’ even a word? This is how geographically challenged I am – I don’t even know how to speak the language.
I would learn how to say sentences with ‘unsub’ in them if it meant possibly meeting up with Shemar Moore or Matthew Gray Gubler though …
I digress.
The trip.
I packed light. dressy clothes for the office and the dinner I was invited to after work, 3 pairs of underwear, a fresh top for the drive home and the jeans I had on me for the drive.
I said goodbye to Nic (who wasn’t that bothered that I would be gone for two nights) and to Butters (who did appear bothered that I was leaving.) This has helped me decide who is in my will immensely.
*Actual Butters face morning of departure
What a sad little wrinkled manatee eh?
Anyway …
The first couple of hours in the trip went well. GPS didn’t have much to do as the first leg of the trip is pretty much one road.
Then – I hit ‘real’ freeways.
How do I make this clear? How to even find the words to adequately sum up the emotions that hit me like a sledgehammer?
1) 3 pairs of underwear may not have been enough.
2) There is no such thing as ‘letting’ someone in/over. You want over, you have to aggressively slam yourself into your chosen area as if you’re in some sort of bizarre automobile mosh pit.
3) Going the speed limit in the slow lane is apparently not allowed. All lanes are subject to the anarchy that is Southern California. The people have decided that ‘flow of traffic’ is the only speed and ‘flow’ is a nice word for ‘very fast angry rush’
I am from a town that slows for burros. I am from a town that considers having to wait for 4 cars to pass before you can turn onto a main road from a side road, ‘rush hour’.
This was to continue for two hours.
Every once in a while, I would find cars to stay behind that seemed to have some common sense – and only going 70. I stayed behind my chosen escorts only to eventually lose them to their exits. Noooooooooo!
I seriously felt abandoned! My blurred, tired, wide eyes followed the direction of the cars as that Jurassic Park line came to my mind:
Only there was no ‘us’. Just me. Me and my trusty, though quiet, GPS.
4 anxiety attacks, one very almost accident and about a gallon of sweat later – GPS finally spoke and announced I could exit.
Then turn right. Then turn right. Then … ‘You have arrived at your destination’.
After shakily grabbing my luggage and business trip folder – I walked on shaky legs to the lobby of the hotel.
I saw nothing but the counter I could grab onto.
I pushed my reservation at the front desk employee and managed to get my last name out of my mouth.
I was tired, still traumatized and unable to focus on anything with any degree of accuracy when she gave me the run down of amenities and mentioned that should I want to work out, Golds Gym was free to use, just present my hotel card.
This woke the amused part of me up a tad … I don’t ‘work out’ and after that drive, the hilarity of the offer gave me enough energy to move the car to a spot closer to my room and ascend the stairs.
Of course the first thing I did was enter the free WIFI code and let people know that I had arrived.
Of course the second thing I did was take photos of the room.
I unpacked and after resting for a bit, was brave enough to get back in the car to seek supplies. I stocked the fridge with dinner and breakfast items. I was not leaving that room for anything other than my day in the SoCal (I speak that language now) branch.
That night, as I lay in bed, my skin exposed to the linen (I forgot to pack pajamas) I remembered every news show I’d seen on hotel bed bugs. So before I closed my tired eyes – I checked.
The bed was clear.
I would love to end this with ‘so I slept tight, and no bed bugs were there to bite’. But that’s not how it ended.
I slept loosely – with the neighbor above me who I lovingly named ‘stompy’, the neighbor next to me who talked loudly and blew his nose in the shower who I called ‘connecting door guy’ and the myriad of guests that strode by – their voices and steps echoing metallically in the wee hours of the morning.
And of course, the constant lullabye of the freeway.
Having said all of that I will end with, as insane as the ‘trip’ part of my business trip was, the day in the office made it all worth while.
I am however, insisting that should I need to go again, it will be when teleportation has been invented and perfected.
Musings from the Laundromat: College and Hypoallergenic Tortoises Edition
Ah college … the smell of new books, freshly sharpened pencils purchased lap tops, and visions of professors and libraries …
Nic’s first day of classes went well. I came home to him smiling – feeling confident – a sheen of ‘eau de higher education/grown up’ glistening on his skin.
Then he had math.
I received a call at work approximately 10 minutes before it was time to leave.
“That math class is so stupid! The teacher doesn’t explain and I have no idea what PAGES we’re supposed to do!!”
“OK, calm down – we’ll talk when I get home.”
My little bundle of college joy was freaking out.
The entire way home, all the cogs in my mind were turning.
Tutor … I could find a way to get a tutor. He can find his math teacher before the work is due and ask for clearer direction. He has to pass or his grant will be due and payable! Who do I know that’s good at math?? Why does he stress out so quickly? What did I do wrong? He used to be good at math.
Considering the fact that my drive home is 10 minutes, these were a lot of thoughts. And now that I’ve typed them out, I think I answered my ‘why does he stress out’ question.
Came to the conclusion though, that unless he wants to succeed – it didn’t matter what idea ‘Momma’ came up with.
We sat and discussed this. He said he would find a way.
I have to let go. I can’t solve problems for him anymore. I can steer him back to the crux of the situation though.
“Do you still want a degree?”
“Yes.”
“Then, you’ll find a way. If you want it, you just will.”
Inside I was agreeing with him though, that math does suck.
Now another bundle of joy story.
Friday, it was planned that I would accompany one of my nearest and dearest friends to collect her grand baby for the weekend.
I was happy to go along for the ride – besides getting to sniff baby head and bite little toes, the 45 minute drive was a great way to catch up with my friend.
We arrived at my friends mothers house and … OH! Look at this tree! It lives in her moms yard and when I saw it, I thought of Harry Potter, then of course, I had to take a photo.
Back to the story.
We enter the house and I headed straight to baby after saying ‘hello’ to friends mom.
You may only see a foot as I don’t know if the baby’s mom would be okay with some random person posting photographs of her daughter online.
I thought we were heading back to our town, but it turned out we were going to dinner.
I’m always up for dinner.
Long story short …
OK!
So we’re at the restaurant, and I’m remembering that not so long ago, the baby’s foot was a lot smaller. And the baby was doing all kinds of things baby couldn’t do last time I saw her.
“She’s getting so big!”
“Well, last time you saw her she was 3 months old.”
No way. Couldn’t be.
“It can’t have been that long!”
Apparently, yes it could have been that long – and my friend had proof.
Friend and friends mother exchanged glances and I knew, there was a very good reason they were certain of the last time I saw baby.
“That’s when we found out she’s allergic to animals.”
OH NO!
Butters.
Color me guilty and embarrassed … but then, I turned it around.
“So! I will always be part of her story! She had a ‘first’ after being at my house!”
*groan* I know! It’s not a good first! I was trying to stay positive.
I looked at my friend and said “You’re welcome.”
The drive home was filled with more catching up – and baby fell asleep.
My friend and I were yawning – but she had one more stop.
“I’ve got to see if the tortoise is outside of the chamber.”
“Oh my gawd, we’re those old people who stop and look at things like ‘Worlds Largest Ball of Yarn’ on road trips.”
Then: “It’s dark, how are we going to see a tortoise?”
I needn’t have worried.
“What’s it made of?!?”
“Metal I think, get out and touch it.”
“I’m not touchin’ it. You’ll leave me here.”
“No I won’t.”
“Well, I’m not touching it.”
“You’re going to blog about this aren’t you?”
____________________________________
Yes, Denice – yes I did.
The Forgotten Daisy
Why oh why did I watch Jerry McGuire?
I have always hated that line “You complete me.”
I’ve shared my opinion that you can’t possibly have much to offer another person, if you don’t come to them already ‘complete’.
And to some degree I still believe that.
But when I’m sitting on my purple couch, sniffing at a romantic movie, my heart swelling and my chest tightening – I have to acknowledge that there is a part of me that wants that – or that is at the very least, touched by the sentiment.
Last night, I went to perform my side job – cleaning the offices – and as I put the mop bucket down, and reached under the sink to gather garbage bags and cleaner, I turned to face the break room table.
Cinderella moment or what?
Friday, someone in the office received a small arrangement of flowers. They weren’t from a romantic interest, I believe they were from a customer – but none the less, there sat the flowers.
Daisies.
My favorite.
Sweet, small, blushing daisies.
Alone on the table for a 3 day weekend.
I felt a twinge of sadness. I would never leave my flowers behind. The thought behind them and every petal, would come home with me.
I have protested too much over the past few years about how I feel about love.
I have lied.
I have said I’ve never been in love. I don’t know if I told myself that for so long that I started to believe it – or if I had to believe it. But said it I have, and multiple times.
“I don’t need a man.” That’s true … to a degree.
I don’t need a man to feel good about myself, to provide for myself and my family.
But the part of me that sniffed at the movie earlier needs love.
Then I sat here and thought for a while about what that means to me.
I can’t know what is right or ‘normal’ for others – but I know what my heart wants.
And I will not settle for anything less.
I want to be courted. I want to feel like I’m the only girl in the world. I want to be the first thing the man who loves me thinks of when he wakes up, and the last thing he thinks about at night.
I need that.
I give that – so I don’t feel like I’m expecting too much not wanting to be an after thought.
As for the fairy tale ending … I deserve it.
I’ve fought that notion for years too.
I’ve had my mind changed.
I deserve nothing less.
My fairy tale ending may not come from a book – but it is written in my heart.
My prince will laugh with me. He will ask ‘how was your day’. He will listen to me. He will understand that I like time alone, time to read, time to write. He will encourage my passions and will think that they are important.
My prince will know that I say too much – think too much – and still love me. He will know me well enough to understand who I really am.
And I won’t love him because I need to be complete. And I won’t love him because I can’t be alone.
I will love him because he will have earned it. My trust, my lust … my secrets, my heart.
I’ll laugh with him, ask him ‘how was your day’, listen to him. I will understand that he likes time alone – time to pursue his interests. I will encourage him and know that what he cares about is important.
And when he says too much, or thinks too much – I will still love him.
I will know with my heart who he really is and understand him.
I will share the most important thing I have to give – my life.
Musings from the Laundromat: ‘First week’ edition
The first week of work.
Well, well, well.
I learned a LOT (understatement of the year), but what I think I learned most importantly was:
a) Being in the mortgage business for 15 years doesn’t help jack when you’re suddenly in the real estate business
b) I’m still WAY too hard on myself.
Here’s a little visual of how the week went.
First day:
Later that day:
Later same day:
Intermittently throughout day:
Everyday at my notes when I tried to work unattended:
Thank GOD the person leaving the post (real post, not blog post) is kind, and patient, and put up with my OCD note taking.
I literally wrote the same procedures down in triplicate without knowing it.
By day three I had 2 binders full of paper and dividers and stickers …
My mentor just sat. And smiled. And taught.
Now, you would think that learning an industry language I didn’t know how to speak, and how to operate 3 new systems I’d never even heard of before – would be what I was most anxious about.
No.
The Phones.
Oh my God.
The vast ‘think on your feet and don’t stutter’ scenarios that end up being on the other end of the line, pale in comparison to the mind-blowing multi-line phone system.
Mother of God!
To top it off, I have to say “It’s a great day at ______” when I answer the phone. This has been answered by such responses as: “Bullshit” and “Is it? Is it really?”
Sigh.
I was feeling more comfortable by day 5 – and this is where my years in the area did come in handy – I knew a lot of the people (escrow officers etc.) who were calling.
It’s really just going to all come down to repetition, trial and error and experience – and I need to remember that.
As I said earlier to my friends – I’m learning a new language, and already expecting myself to speak it fluently, know proper grammar and have the accent down.
And let’s face it – I haven’t even achieved THAT in my native tongue. 😉
Debauchery Soup 