There are so many ways in which I make up for not having the “girlie” gene. To get you caught up, I don’t like to go shopping for shopping’s sake (although a good bargain does thrill me). I don’t window shop. Figuring out which colors go together is like a foreign language to me. I can barely dress myself and try to stick with either neutrals or else whatever people cast off at me.
But I have the crying thing down. I can be tough when it counts. I don’t cry when I’m in labor, for instance, or even when my baby is presented to me. Later, however, I am a basket case. I cry when it's time to say good-bye to my niece who lives 4 hours away. I cry when Aron has to leave town for a week. Not SOBBING, just crying.
So Tuesday when my baby boys drove away with Aron to go on their FOUR-DAY fishing and camping trip with their uncle and cousin, I lost it. I didn’t let THEM see me lose it. Thing is, I kind of take them for granted daily. Then when they leave for any period of time that’s not 2 hours I feel like I’m missing a limb.
I have a mantra for these 4 days: “They are having fun. They are fishing. They are camping. They are with their dad. They are having fun. They are warm. They are safe. No bears will come near them. They are having fun.”
Does anyone else worry so damn much about their kids? Does it get any better the older they get? I think my husband is about to commit me to therapy for worrying.
Tresa says, "Just the girls!! I can only imagine the estrogen bouncing around in manic, psychadelic patterns..." True that, Tresa. True that.
So it's Friday morning and I haven't heard from them since Tuesday. They're staying at a campground called Purgatorie. I bet they've left Purgatorie by this time (10 a.m.) and are heading back to Heaven. Sorry, a little Catholic humor for you.
