Bacon-wrapped Dates at Café Neo in Seattle. Me not feeling guilty. Pretty much.
You know what kills a mother dead? It's being out of town and having her littlest-dude call and weepily tell her that his tummy hurts and he wishes she was home RIGHT NOW, and he misses her so much and she'd better not die before she comes back or their friendship is over.
Also, getting a call from her middle daughter who is pretty sure everyone and everything is prettier and smarter than she is and school is stupid and couldn't she just take a break? For the rest of the year?
And then talking to her oldest son, whose birthday she is missing like a negligent mother, and who, because he's the quiet type who can't articulate feelings–well he can, it just takes a day or two–doesn't have a lot to say when he does speak and so she is left wondering if it's because he doesn't have a lot to say, or because he's actually kind of hurt-feelinged that she's out of town for his birthday.
Plus talking to her husband, who is buried beneath his job, which involves a whole lot of fire-putting-out lately. Not to mention all the other stuff he does. As well as trying to take care of the kidlets while she is gone. And who, because he's so tired and busy doesn't have much time to talk.
So she is worried that maybe she shouldn't have left them all to go sing in four concerts in the Pacific Northwest where her really cool brother and his partner live and perform crazy-pants brilliant music. And where she gets to go twice a year to learn a ton, perform a lot, and have a little break from her stay-at-home-momness. But maybe she's selfish, even though husband assures her she's not. And maybe she's feeling a bit hormonal. And maybe she needs chocolate covered mint fondant.
But finally, college-child calls just to say she hopes mom is having a great time, and everyone is doing fine, and how's it going anyway, and stop worrying. They'll all live, and still be excited to see mom when she finally returns home hopefully before Christmas. And besides, remember? Dad say's he's happy she can do it.
*sigh* Okay. So . . . this IS what it is to dedicate your life to being a mom. And it's okay. So to my peeps, who are actually doing really brilliantly without me, despite my fears and all the running around they have to do in my stead: I love you. You make me glad I do what I do.
To my brothers up here: I love you too. And thanks a gazillion. More than you know.
To all the rest of you: You're pretty stunning and cool you'reselves. Thank you. I hope you have great peeps too. And are having a wonderful December.
Much cheer!
(To go to Challenging the Gnome and read about an epic James Bondian Christmas snowball massacre with our sib-in-laws, click here)
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