My mom left Thursday afternoon, in a rush.
All of a sudden she decided she needed to get home, to attend to her pressing business there. It was a wise decision, but it was a lot like pulling off a bandage all at once.
We said our final goodbyes in my driveway, raindrops falling on our faces, mingling with reluctant tears. Neither of us wanted her to go, but we both knew it had to be.
I pulled myself together and waved to her, a smile on my face, as her car pulled away for the long drive back to New York. In the house, I allowed myself to break down a little, hiding in Mr. C’s armpit so The Poo wouldn’t see me upset.
The afternoon was gloomy, but just about the time we decided to go out for dinner with some friends, the sun broke through the heavy Midwestern clouds.
Dinner was the perfect antidote to my mood. For the first time in many months I could order whatever I wanted from the menu, without fretting about carbs or glycemic indexes or heading to the bathroom for a shot of fast-acting insulin in my thigh.
I even ordered dessert.
Thursday was move-in day for freshman at the Huge Midwestern University here, and the eatery was crowded, buzzing with laughter and the electric potential of first-year undergraduates. Their parents eyed them affectionately, warily, and I imagined sending my own babies out into the world with only the slightest tether keeping them bound to me.
The Poo was in fine form, really herself for the first time since her brother made his appearance just over two weeks ago. She was perfectly behaved, a model for every child dining out. She colored, flirted charmingly with the server, and even wrote her own name for the very first time, in blue crayon.
“You make the best grilled cheese!” she called out to our waiter, after the two of them exchanged introductions.
So taken with her was our waiter that he brought her a free dish of ice cream with a candle in it.
“Emmie,” he said, “I forgot your birthday this year. So I brought you a candle tonight!”
“Oooooh,” she exclaimed, hands clasped angelically beneath her chin.
As he brought us the bill, he asked The Poo if she was five years old.
“No,” she replied modestly, “I am three.”
He looked at me in amazement and told me she had “incredible verbalization.” When he returned to pick up our receipts, he brought her a tiger lily from the floral arrangement on the bar.
Shaggy slept through the entire event, waking up briefly in the car. He began to scream, but even he stopped his fussing after just a few minutes, calming himself even though I managed to leave his pacifier at home.
We managed bedtime in tandem, handing off the children like experts. My incision ached but didn’t burn, I was tired but not exhausted.
Mr. C and I sat side-by-side on the couch in companionable silence, watching TV and snacking on the fresh banana bread my mom made us before she left.
Friday morning found my husband in his sport coat, off to work, and my children in their PJs, one napping and one eating her waffles.
I know the road ahead of me will have it’s bumps, but right now, it feels as smooth as silk.
August 23rd, 2008 at 12:31 am
*HUGS* I’m glad things are really starting to look up Mrs C!
And your daughter really does have an amazing vocabulary - and writing her name already!!! As someone who works with her age group, I recognise that that’s beyond incredible - it’s effing phenomenal! You must be very proud - of both your kids!
Take care of yourself, ne?
August 23rd, 2008 at 5:35 am
What a perfect night! I’m so glad that it was this way for you the first night after your mom went home. You can do it!
I hope your days and nights are filled with many like this! HUGS!
August 23rd, 2008 at 6:48 am
Oh good! Life returning to something resembling normal - I am so happy for you!!
August 23rd, 2008 at 7:26 am
So glad for you all! May these good nights outweigh the not-so-good!
August 23rd, 2008 at 8:25 am
Hope your mom made it home ok and happy to hear you had a lovely night out.
Where did you go? That waiter deserves every bit of the tip you gave him. What a nice guy! And Poo? She’s a genius, but I’m sure you already knew that.
August 23rd, 2008 at 8:45 am
Ok can your mom come to my home? I love banana bread!
August 23rd, 2008 at 10:20 am
Oh this is simply wonderful to read Mrs. C. Every bit of it, but particularly your ability to enjoy a good meal again. I know how that is as I was in the same boat only mine last through nursing and it just about killed me! I just want to hug that waiter for recognizing and adoring the poo for all her talents and charm. She does have extraordinary verbal skills! I hope the coming days and weeks continue to feel so positive and smooth, you’re certainly very deserving.
August 23rd, 2008 at 10:49 am
Sounds like things are going well. ((HUGS))
August 23rd, 2008 at 12:38 pm
amen, love. you deserve some silk.
August 23rd, 2008 at 2:01 pm
Lovely slice of life, girl.
August 23rd, 2008 at 2:55 pm
Sounds like a wonderful evening.
August 23rd, 2008 at 7:50 pm
Ooh, thank God for the good days.
August 23rd, 2008 at 7:51 pm
I needed to read this today.
To remind me that life will once again be smooth as silk. Once I get past this twisted rocky road.
I’m so happy for you.
August 23rd, 2008 at 8:15 pm
Oh, I’m so happy to read this. Just take it slowly. You can do it.
August 23rd, 2008 at 9:21 pm
I’m so happy for you guys. Take it easy, though. Don’t push yourself too hard.
August 24th, 2008 at 1:23 am
don’t forget me whilst you’re away. remember that im missing you every day. you are the answer if you choose to be one.
August 24th, 2008 at 1:24 am
the answer to my question.
August 24th, 2008 at 12:42 pm
I know you’re worried about being able to handle it all. I hope this evening showed you that you CAN!
August 25th, 2008 at 8:09 pm
Just what you needed. (And hopefully the memory of that night will help when things aren’t going as smoothly.)
August 25th, 2008 at 11:21 pm
Do you remember when you worried about what new life the Poo would have once Shaggy was here?
She gets to be the older, charming sister. Having Grandma gone (who, no doubt, took extra effort to adore, cherish and “baby” her), she got to “be herself” for the first time since her brother was born.
This isn’t a coincidence.
Watch her rise to more occasions like this. Watch her become proud, confident, ham-ish, and even more verbal as she starts translating for her brother (and her tired parents) as the months go on.
Big sisters carry a big burden sometimes and deserve to be adored and cherished for their special efforts.
She will carry a torch forward to light the way for all of you. Watch what she does and how she just nails/names/psychoanalyzes the situation perfectly sometimes. She’s in the catbird seat. Appreciate her view — even if it hits too close to home sometimes.
Rely on her observations (or at least see the spark of truth in them) because you’ll be tired sometimes and won’t see what she sees. She gives these observations with love and concern for your health.
signed,
first born girl
August 27th, 2008 at 9:31 pm
Yeah!!!! Times like those make you realize you will get through. Things might be hard… but they can also be wonderful.
Your Poo and my Zoe sound like they are dealing with becoming big sisters in similar ways.
August 29th, 2008 at 10:06 am
We are struggling to get 4 and 5 word sentences out of our three year old - a legacy of her history - she’s catching up like a freight train though.
Isn’t it brilliant when everything goes well all day. Reminds me of the Pooh quote about it being a “hummy kind of day”.