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Full Price?

Today I needed some much needed retail therapy. Anyone empathize out there? I just needed to look at things…touch them…put a few in my cart and drag them around until I emptied half before making it to the cashier. Cause that’s how I roll. Either that or I take the plunge, buy it, take it home, only to talk myself out of it and return it next week. Why oh why am I programmed this way, I ask. Anyway, I see this picture. Art always gets to me. My mother preached to me that if you see a picture you can’t live without, get it. No questions asked. You’ll never see it again. And yes, I had to have this happen once before I stopped walking past something I didn’t want to live without. Luckily I can’t remember what the picture was, but I remember what it felt like to lose it. I digress. There was this picture today. I touched it, oohed and ahhed and walked past it. There was only one. I did two laps around the store and ended back to the picture. Placing it in the cart, I took a step and then put it back. Ahhh….I grabbed it back. What? Full price? Seriously? I looked for a sign for the discount. This place is known for 40% off. Not today. I steadily walked in the direction of the cash register, all the while thinking how I would either walk it back or return it after getting home and realizing it’s not really that adorable. Then I see the chick in front of me with her little phone and the discount scan code. Hey, I can do that! I fumble quickly to look one up. Bingo! 40% it is. And suddenly I don’t feel 100% horrible; only 60%!! I walked out smiling. And that’s the way it’s done. Retail me not!

But doesn’t it get old? I mean always fighting for the discount? Why can’t they just offer it for the drop-dead best price? Why do I have to search and scratch tickets just to get a buck off? Do I have to belong to a million clubs, carry a wallet designated for member cards? Just give me the best price. For the love of all things on sale. Please. 

I’m handling the college thing okay. Actually my daughter left for a few days this week to go on a retreat. Oh. my. gosh. This house is so uneventful. Three kids? Are you kidding? I went to make dinner and had so many leftovers I had to feed the dog twice. In the same hour. I went from buying books to cooking for two, to traveling weekly to Costco for milk and eggs. How does one go back to cooking on the light side? And the guys who left were the least picky. How many times can one eat tacos and cheesesticks with peanut butter crackers? Will broccoli ever been seen in the produce drawer of the fridge? Will any vegetables ever hang out there? I need to be de-programmed or something.

I’m not sure what temperature it is where you live…but it was like 180 degrees here. Oh yeah, that was just in my car. My broken-air conditioned car. I stared around me at each and every stoplight. Everyone with their windows up and their hair blowing from the cool breeze. As I sit there with the heat rising off my skin like sound waves. “Yeah, I love the heat!”. I wondered why my arm was burned the other night when I got out of the shower. The left one. Not the right one. Heavens no. And the white watch mark sealed the deal. That girl has no a/c. I’m still hoping for a cold snap. LOL

Have a good one, everyone. Stay cool. For me. 🙂

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Worst Party Ever

Yep, the other guy of the house jumped from the nest yesterday. He asks as he leaves me at the side of my car to return home, “does it get any easier?” Uh, no. Well, actually a little. I mean that first time I had to leave him was horrible. It was way worse than that horrid first day at preschool. He screamed so loud, I could hear him from the parking lot. No, this was leaving him in a strange place, 2 hours away from my house. Three years later, it has gotten a smidge easier. It doesn’t clobber me until I get home. And hear the silence, see the empty rooms of where my first little boys have slept for years. One left his bedroom neat; one looks like he left in a hurry and then a robber came in and tossed the furniture and pulled out all the drawers. I love their differences.

So why do we love pity parties? They are the worst. Change is hard. It sometimes has grief woven through it. A few of my kids have come to me and said their legs hurt so bad, they couldn’t sleep. Within a few months, they’ve shot up two inches. Change is painful. It comes with markers–the empty house, the lower electric bills, less food to prepare, lighter laundry baskets. Change is good. At least for some in the equation. For me, I move on in this house with less people that I enjoy their company so much. For them, they flex their wings, step into another world where they call the shots (hopefully the good ones), and experience things needed to prepare them for the next big change.

I’ll survive. I’ll be okay. It’s the sting of the day after that I get most sad. Alas, there are a few others in the nest I have to tend to. For now. When the day comes that my nest is empty….who knows what kind of party that’s going to look like. 🙂

 

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And that just happened

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Don’t let the picture fool ya!

So I’m sitting outside my daughter’s school, waiting for play practice to get out, and my car begins freaking out. The locks begin clicking…the lights come on and go out, dim, and become brighter. I’m like ‘what’s going on?’ Within seconds, all goes black. “Are you freaking kidding me?”

Before the parking lot is abandoned, I go to a nearby car and kindly ask the woman if she has jumper cables. I know what you’re thinking…that girl has mad jumper cable skills. Ooh quite the contrary. Girl has no clue when it comes to the transfer of battery power via red and black cables.  So surprisingly she has this nifty emergency bag (she’s not once had a need for probably) and inside is a set of tiny little cables. Bingo. “Now I’ll just call a boy”, I said. “Better yet”, she replied…”I’ll try to go and find a boy”.

Short version of lesson is…why don’t they have a class, given in school, before anyone is allowed to graduate and demonstrate the fine art of “emergency situations and how to adapt”. Changing a tire knowledge would be nice…building a porch would stand out as a great category. Or, how about repairing a leaking faucet. I don’t know about you, but it would be a great change to not have to depend on someone else for things I could know myself, given the proper education. I mean once I’m out in the big bad world, finding a person with a set of unusable cables is about the best I can do. 😦

On to the hair situation. I left you last time with the cliffhanger of my short hair…will it grow, is it growing, am I wearing wigs? Well, I’ve been shampooing with biotin enhanced stuff, eating biotin gummies, massaging my scalp every chance I get, and yanking on the ends at least five time a day. Results…nada, nothing, not an inch. I will say though, it is a bit liberating. Sort of like a boy. Never does it fall into my eyes, blow in the wind, or get tangled after washing. I’m going to miss this little hot mess one day…oh, let it be tomorrow!

In other news of my oldest child…he’s the one in college. Fresh from the feathered nest of home. Where I cooked for, cleaned for, and washed for. Not to mention, sometimes thought for. Not all the time. He is eighteen, after all. But I was shocked to hear news today of him taking on a job without even the slightest text, tweet, or message to me to ask my opinion. I mean it was only last week he wanted me to look at a screen shot of his throat to give advice on seeing a doctor. His FIRST job? Say what? Who cares…he took it. Still no call..*crickets*

Moving on to a health note: My throat is extremely sore. Maybe I got whatever he sent me over in the picture. 🙂 No, seriously…it’s been hurting since the weekend. I powered up and took gads of vitamins. Which I think only trapped the junk in pockets of the throat lining. I’m not unable to breathe, but something just ain’t right. I couldn’t even sing to my power hour of happy songs playlist, on the way to work today. bummer.

One last thing to mention…smallest child came home without a coat. Okay, so it’s in the 40’s here–32 degrees in the mornings. He’s been out sick with a fever for the past 3 days. 3 days! And all because he went out to recess last week and stepped in the saturated playground, thus getting his socks, shoes, and pants drenched in muddy water. Yes! He was able to squish all the day long in water, thus not grabbing the attention of his award winning teacher. How does this happen? So today, after 3 days out for a virus/asthma induced sickness (by way of soaked shoes), his coat came up M.I.A. When asked if he wore it for recess, of course the answer was no. He couldn’t find it. So where is it? And why didn’t someone…oh, I don’t know…like a teacher ask this important question and not let anyone leave the class until it was found. Inquiring minds will never know. I’m off to find a makeshift coat for tomorrow.

Until next time. 🙂

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The Graduate

gradThat picture, minus the date, is how I felt when I sat for hours watching the graduating class of my sons’ take their diploma and walk away into the night. A group of young adults, weathering the tests, classes, and teachers for the past 13 years…out in the real world now. It was surreal. My baby boy. The one who cried so hard when I left him at the little church preschool when he was 4 years old…now a graduate. I remember not being able to take hearing him cry. I called my husband from the parking lot and told him he would be taking him from now on. He couldn’t do it either. So I called my mother to drop him off. Eventually it got better. He acclimated to the other children and settled in. But boy was it tough.

He never gave me any trouble in school. Always a straight ‘A’ student, very conscious of his GPA, and rarely ever missing a day. I had it easy being his mom. And then the night came to see it end. No more seeing him pulling his hair at the counter, trying to squeeze out another page to his already 7 page long paper. No more having him ride the bus for the 45 minutes it took to get to the school. No more curfew to get the bed so he could wake up at 5 in order to ride the bus! He is now officially in limbo until he finds a job and waits to go to college in the fall.

So how do I feel about it all? Old. I no longer can say I have 5 in school. I have four in school and one going to college. Ahh…it gives me shivers. One is out. OUT, I tell you. Out among the other responsible citizens of the world. Able to vote, able to work, go to jail if he’s bad. (although I highly doubt it…still, he could go) I’ve got an adult on my hands. No, I won’t say it too often in my mind. I can’t. To admit it means I’ve lost a little bit of the world I’ve lived in for so long a time. I prefer denial. When I see him meandering in the hall after all the others have gone to school, I simply say to myself he’s just out for the day. It gets me through it. Don’t ask me what I’ll do when fall really comes and I have to leave him at that college. I think he may have to call my mom to take me home because he can’t take the crying! 🙂

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Time to Move On

imageI received my son’s senior pictures in the mail yesterday. Just writing the words and remembering the sinking in my stomach when I looked at each of them, makes me want to cry. This is the little boy, the same little boy I see when I look at them, who wore Harry Potter glasses, carrying a green bucket of toys around, with a binky in his mouth and one in his other pudgy little hand. The same little boy I could hear ask me why I didn’t hug him as much as his younger brother. Boy, life takes no prisoners. You want to play the game, you must be ready to land on every spot it takes you. Don’t get me wrong, I’m over the top happy and appreciative that he’s come this far in life. Not only arrived here, but came with flying colors. He’s an ‘A’ student, the most gentle, and kind person I know for his age, he is humble, he knows exactly what he wants to do in life, and he asks for very little of me. And, now this is his last year at home with me as my boy.

After next year he’ll be packed up and ready for college. Let’s face it, they never come back the same. They’ve lived on their own for too long to feel they belong in the gang the way it used to be. My nest will be eternally mangled; roughed up, not resembling the original feathered heap it once was. I’ll look back in my rearview mirror and not see him. Oh, the thought kills me!

Change like this sucks. I don’t do well with it. The other day I’m on the phone with my third boy’s nurse and she’s telling me that once he turns nine he needs a different medicine than what I’ve always given him. I tell her that we’ll cross that bridge when it comes time. She asks, “isn’t he nine?” I retorted back, “he just turned eight. For goodness sakes, I was there. We had a party.” She then tells me that she’s looking at his chart and it says he’s nine. I scoff, telling her that she has a messed up chart. Then, she asks what year he was born. I tell her most confidently, “2006.” She quietly says, “That makes him nine.” I hold on to the counter I’m standing beside and it sinks in, Oh no, he is nine! WTH?

Time waits for no one, my friend. Sure, you’re glad when the dreaded binky isn’t the lifeline to your toddler, your son stops biting random children, and your other one can watch a movie without having the bladder of a peapod. But, when they look at you behind the wheel of a car and wave goodbye, what are you supposed to do then? Sit home and feel like there goes the last eighteen years of your life? Pray the world doesn’t chew him up and spit him out? Hope he doesn’t come home with a nasty girlfriend who suddenly knows his likes and dislikes better than you? Or, doesn’t come home at all because he’s got better plans?

I suppose I’ll just take a deep breath and enjoy this last year, hoping and praying it all turns out that he does make it through; that he does get to go to college; that he begins living his own life. That he gets the chance to live his dreams.

I might need a support group for this:)