The Bigger They Get

This is how my day is going so far. How’s yours?

I’m sleepily pondering the irony of sitting in a hospital waiting room today, worrying, while doctors implanted a defibrillator in Yes,Dear’s chest - which we’re not entirely sure our crappy insurance will cover - while the waiting room TV was tuned to an Oprah rerun focusing on the healthcare mess in America. The program featured, among others, Michael Moore talking about his documentary, Sicko. It also featured a representative of the insurance industry who, while admitting that the industry isn’t perfect, says it is working to improve itself even while providing the best available care anywhere in the world.

Right.

Moore made her look like an idiot, which was great. But the whole thing was weird and Twilight Zone-y.

There’s nothing like ‘em. I’ve been using them for years and I highly recommend them.

When I’ve found Other People’s Kids hanging around, I’ve recruited them to they take out the trash, move furniture, change light bulbs, build a patio, paint, etc… They, unlike my own kids, are too polite to say no and their assistance with household chores makes my own kids feel obligated to help too, so it’s a total win-win.

Additionally, helping out also makes Other People’s Kids feel right at home, which I love. They become part of the family. Having them walk into our home, fix themselves sandwiches, and sit and gab with us is a lot of fun. We especially enjoyed it during the years when we were the last people on Earth our own kids wanted to talk to.

There is one caveat: Other People’s Kids have a way of stealing our hearts. For example, Daughter’s best friend from her undergrad days has, over the years, become Our Other Daughter and I couldn’t love her more if I had given birth to her myself. Our Other Daughter, like Daughter, just left for grad school in the Midwest so we caravaned with her last weekend on Our Big Road Trip. Along the way, we stopped in Indiana to pick up our friend’s daughter who is Our Other Other Daughter and a total sweetheart. She was a huge help with the move and it was an absolute joy to spend time with her. Saying goodbye to THREE much loved daughters last weekend was extra hard.

Fortunately, we had The Boys to keep us laughing. And they did. They worked hard moving Daughter into her apartment, see?

Untitled from The Bigger They Get on Vimeo.

And then they spent the rest of the weekend being knuckleheads. Because it’s what they’re best at. They did Schwartzenegger impressions non-stop, making the trip across Ohio seem to take longer than it would to cross the Sahara barefoot. On hot coals. Twice. They mocked us, their loving mothers, and begged us to stop at fireworks stands. We, being weak and partial to fireworks ourselves, caved.

This Fireworks stand is across the street from a little roadside gas and eat place that sold deep fried brownie bites and fried pickles.

Fortunately, we’re not that weak.

At one point, The Boys found a Shocking Lighter and proceeded to use it ON THEMSELVES. Because they’re smart like that. Watch:

Zapp 2 from The Bigger They Get on Vimeo.

And then there’s this one:

Zap 1 from The Bigger They Get on Vimeo.

That laughter in the background? I will admit that is us, their mothers. We don’t normally encourage our boys to do stupid things - in fact, when we are in control of all our faculties, we typically discourage such behavior for all the good it does, but it had been a long, emotionally and physically draining weekend and we were too drunk tired and giddy to put a stop to their tomfoolery. Fortunately it doesn’t appear they zapped anything vital.

Or if they did, we haven’t noticed.

There’s no deluding myself anymore that daughter has simply gone away to school once again.

She has moved out.

The trailer packed to the roof with the accumulated belongings of her 24 years…

The long ride to Chicago via Indianapolis and the long ride home without her…

The weekend spent moving her in to her apartment and shopping for necessary housewares…

The amazing friends who traveled with us to help her move and to keep me from losing it at the thought of leaving her…

The finding myself alone on Sunday afternoon feeling so overwhelmed with the thought of leaving without her that evening and having to pull into a parking lot to sob because I couldn’t see to drive…

Yes, Dear, who had to stay behind because of work, telling me he’d cried looking at her empty childhood bedroom…

The goodbye hug that I had braced myself for, thinking I could get through it without crying but couldn’t…

Crying in Daughter’s empty childhood bedroom myself upon returning home…

Calling Daughter yesterday only to find out that she was relaxing on the shore of Lake Michigan enjoying a good book…

Okay, now I’m just jealous.

Sigh.

Dear Son One,

I can’t believe how quickly time has flown and how incredible (and incredibly tall) you are. It has been 264 months since you appeared on the scene, snapping my tailbone like a twig in the process. You were a beautiful baby, despite the horrible photo taken of you in the hospital - the photo we didn’t mail to family with your birth announcements because we didn’t want to worry them or prompt them to obtain unnecessary genetic testing.

It did concern us that your sole focus during most of your childhood seemed to be food. You demanded cereal in your bottles at only five weeks. (Or at least that’s when we caught on. You’ll have to forgive the delay, we were horribly sleep deprived what with not having slept AT ALL for, oh, about FIVE WEEKS.)

When you were two and I took you and your sister to see Bambi, your sister was traumatized by the death of Bambi’s mother (Sorry, Sweetie. Somehow I’d forgotten that part.) She was full of questions about death and Heaven. Were you traumatized? Not at all. Once you had asked whether there is food in Heaven and had I assured you that, yes, there most certainly is, you were like, Great, thanks for clearing that up. Now what’s for dinner? You were always a grazer, eating the crumbs from everyone else’s breakfast plates and then asking when we would eat again and what we were having.

What we didn’t know then was that you were fueling the mother of all growth spurts - an 18 year odyssey resulting in grocery bills that left us speechless. Those bills, though, were nothing compared to the hits your poor head has taken on door frames, chandeliers, and ceiling fans. When Dad and I told you you could do anything you wanted to with enough hard work, so reach for the stars! we didn’t mean it literally. Just so you know…

You were such a great little kid. So goofy and silly, and so much fun to be with. You still have a wonderful sense of humor and I love how you can make us all laugh. You have always been a joy to be around, except for a few times, a lot of times between grades 8 and 12. I will say, though, that I got a brief glimpse of the delightful, goofy little guy you had been when you were coming out of the anesthesia after your wisdom teeth had been removed. It was such a joyful moment for me, watching you joke and giggle like your long lost little-boy self that I admit I tearily asked the doctor to knock you out again.

He said no.

You weren’t so much fun during your first two years out of high school, although this last year has been a joy. It just took you a little long while to find another job and we get that. Just like it took us a little while to get over the whole underage drinking thing and the constable at the door thing and, really, when you think about it, you’ve never been arrested or ended up in the local paper’s Police Briefs like some of your friends, so it could definitely have been a lot worse. Believe me, we’re glad it wasn’t. What’s a few gray hairs between pals, right?

You have grown up to be a terrific young man and it has been a pleasure watching you transform from cute-as-a-button baby to sweet toddler to adorable little boy to surly teen to surly slacker and now, to a mature and impressive guy. We have loved you SO FREAKING MUCH at every age and stage. You’re the best.

Happy Birthday, sweetheart!

We love you more than you will ever know.

Mom

Reading Bossy’s excellent post this morning about shopping with her son for his college dorm, I couldn’t help but reminisce about our experiences sending a child off to academia for the first time…more specifically, reading Daughter’s housing contract which made me laugh even as I wondered what our baby was getting into.

The contract expressly forbade the following items in campus housing:

Fish with teeth

and

Carnivorous plants

Since Daughter will be moving to Chicago and into an off campus apartment next week, I’m planning to buy her piranhas and Venus Flytraps.

My little girl is growing up.

I recently found Stickies, which are amazing and versatile virtual Post-Its that sit on my computer desktop and remind me of all the things I need to do. Thanks to Stickies, I’ve gotten rid of most of the little scraps of paper containing jotted notes, lists, reminders, to-dos, etc. that used to litter my desk.

Stickies are there for me every morning when I boot up. They sit there all day, politely waiting for me to notice them and act upon their messages. Sometimes they have a long wait but that doesn’t faze them. They never judge me when I shut down the computer at night having ignored them for yet another day. My Stickies are confident that I will get around to it, whatever “it” might be. They are patient with me. I appreciate both their confidence and their patience.

But today I noticed my Shopping List Sticky says, “Food, for the love of God.”

I think they’ve been conspiring with the kids.

Crap.

Why in the world am I all of a sudden getting ads on here for G*a*y B*e*a*r D*a*t*i*n*g?

We put our van in the shop today to have a hitch installed so we can move Daughter to Chicago next week. We also asked that they change the oil and check the fluids for the trip. Our car guy called this morning and reminded me that when we’d had the van in for inspection he’d told us we’d need front brakes at our next oil change.

Oh, right. I forgot.

And, he says, you really need four new tires.

Uh Oh.

The total bill? $1200. But the car will be in excellent shape when he’s done.

And that’s a good thing because at this rate it won’t be long before we’re living in it.

I call shotgun.

I wasn’t feeling well yesterday thanks to being a WOMAN.

This woman stuff is getting damn old. Thirty-five years of this crap, the last nine years clinging desperately, white knuckled, to the ragged edge of sanity while being buffeted by the winds of a Category Five Hormonicane.

Enough already.

So I seized the day and did absolutely nothing. Except read. All day. A whole wonderful book. I spent the day wrapped up in someone else’s life and it was AMAZING!! It has been far too long since I let myself escape so completely into a book. Upon finishing it, I felt as if I’d had a deep brain massage and I was so relaxed I could barely sit up straight.

Ahhhhhhh….

And I’m still feeling refreshed today despite temperatures hovering somewhere around 500 degrees with humidity at about 352%.

This tells me I need to ramp up the number and frequency of Reading Mini Staycations.

Like to maybe, oh, I don’t know, every day?