October 15, 2010
How come cell phones go off at the most inopportune time?
Yesterday, late (as usual) to pick up Em, I'm in the elevator calling her to let her know I was on my way.
No answer.
Realizing that I HAD to pee, and if I didn't go before I left the building, I would pee in the car.
Stephen probably wouldn't like that very much.
I make a pit stop in the bathroom, and of course, because I'm late, and carrying my suitcase sized purse, Keith's gym bag, and Mer's coat, I get the smallest bathroom as all the others are occupato.
I prefer to use the handicapped stall, provided, obviously, that there isn't someone who has a greater need than I do.
Why?
Because when you're carrying all the crap I inevitably end up carting around, space is a must.
Bigger stall = more room for my stuff.
Not this time.
I had to put the two large bags and Mer's coat in the stall first, then crawl over them to get to the toilet, hoping for enough space to turn myself around and divest my ample bottom of my pants.
It was tight. I won't lie.
I situate my ghetto bootie (boo-tay? I'm never sure) on the toilet seat, begin my necessary bathroom ablutions, listening to the conversations of the people waiting for a free stall when I heard the tell tale sound. . . .
Bing Bing Bing Bing Bing Bing. . .
My cell phone starts ringing softly and the longer you take to answer it, the louder it gets.
I briefly contemplated not answering it, but then remembered that if I didn't, whoever it was, and it was DEFINITELY one of the kids, they would just text me.
And that intonation is no better than the ringing of the cell phone.
Resigned that I am going to have to answer my phone while sitting on the toilet, I sigh and dig my phone out from underneath the assortment of bags and coats.
It was, of course, Emily.
Asking me how come I called her and then hung up.
I didn't call her and hang up.
I called her, didn't hear any ringing and then hung up.
There I am, in the bathroom, on the toilet, drawers at my feet having a conversation with my daughter.
She asks me where I am.
I wonder if she means literally or figuratively, and not wanting to risk a miscommunication that will end no where good, I told her I was sitting on the flush.
She reminds me she's waiting.
I remind her she could be walking if she thought waiting for me was an inappropriate use of her time.
I tell her that as soon as I disentangle myself from the toilet stall, that I'll be there to pick her up.
Given where I was, I didn't think a prolonged conversation was the most appropos thing.
Clearly, Em wasn't concerned about where I was sitting while we conversed.
She just wanted to converse.
How come your kids always want to converse with you when you are the least able to converse with them?
Mer has a sixth sense that signals her to call me just before I'm on my way to class.
Keith wants to bond when I am 3/4 asleep trying to negotiate myself to the bathroom.
Either way, I rush out of the bathroom, clutching my suitcase sized purse, Keith's gym bag and Mer's coat to my chest like a quarterback running down the field for a touchdown.
Because I knew that getting Em was just the beginning.
There was returning home so she could put her uniform on.
Picking Keith up, cause he was at home and looking for a drive to work.
Quickly racing through rush hour traffic (as much as there is here) so I could get to my office, shut down my computer, and pick up Stephen from his 4.00-5.20 class.
And arriving at home sometime around 6.00 to pee-needy dogs and a hungry, hungry husband.
The looniness that is my life continues to repeat itself like a bad scratch on an 80s 45.
Last evening Stephen and I found ourselves at home without the kids.
All the little Van Every chickens were working.
When Keith started working, three years ago, I certainly noticed his absence, especially in the evenings.
But I had Em to remind me of all my maternal duties, so while I missed Keith terribly, I was busy.
When Em started working this past April, and Keith was (and still is) experiencing the freedom of being a young adult whose mother didn't enforce any curfew, I started to experience a phenomenon heretofore never experienced by me before.
I was at home in the evenings without children.
So unprepared for this, so unaware of the repercussions of working children I found myself completely and utterly confused.
Disoriented.
Generally out of sorts.
I had absolutely no idea what I was supposed to do.
None whatsoever.
I hadn't had a completely kid free, at home, evening since October 11th, 1989.
The night before Meredyth made her entrance into the world.
Here I am at 42 years old with no clue what people did in the evenings when they weren't embroiled in the tangled dramas of supper preparations, dog demands, fielding phone calls, husband hounding, homework cajoling, tv tantrums, bedtime begging, next day lunch readying, washing, drying folding, the never ending laundry loads because someone, usually female, had "nothing to wear the next day!".
Really, what do people sans pets and children do in the evenings?
I envision something completely decadent and adult like preparing a meal that is not restricted to the five-things-everyone-will-eat-and-not-complain-about, while drinking something alcoholic, a nice glass of brandy with ginger ale perhaps, listening to jazz or classical music, with candles softly lighting the dining room interior because you don't have to worry that a cat will walk by and set themselves on fire, or dogs in a frenetic battle of wills because they are trying to incapacitate one another will knock the candles over and set the house ablaze.
Imagine.
I couldn't.
Instead of lounging in the lull, revelling in the relaxation, nestling in the noiselessness, soaking up the stillness, I found myself completely at odds with myself, and the world.
Directionless.
Unfocused.
Hazy about what the hell I was supposed to do with myself.
I tried to work but couldn't concentrate.
Watching television was just an exercise in channel flipping.
Housework was a fait de complet as Stephen has already taken care of everything.
I just wandered from room to room.
Over and over like a ball in one of those rings cats are obsessed with.
To the point where Stephen asked me what the hell I was doing??!!
And could I stop because it was distracting him.
Now, I'm a little bit better at embracing the peace and quiet when the kids are all at work, I actually find myself looking forward to it.
Planning in advance what I'll do while the kids are busy making money and learning how to earn their way.
Or at least pay for their own clothes, cds and any other sundry items their little hearts may desire.
And believe me, they desire plenty.
But getting used to them working at night, and having them move out is something completely different.
I am step I am not ready to take, and am in no way ready to deal with.
I'm barely adjusted to Mer living on her own, 5 minutes away.
Sometimes, it's too far.
Other times, it's too close.
Most of the time, it's just perfect.
Title Lyric: Blastoff by the Decendents
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