Find a Happy Place!
Early this morning, as
I was covered with a delightful lather of Italian soap in a steaming hot
shower, I reached for my razor and IT WAS NOT THERE! Where oh where could it be, I pondered. After spending all of two seconds
scrutinizing the shower (check behind the shampoo and then the conditioner) I
was struck by an outrageous thought... "No. Not possible", I said aloud to no-one in
particular. Thinking perhaps the razor
was underneath the shampoo, I reinitiated my search with a different flair but
to no avail. Rinsing off what might just
have been the best lather to adorn my middle age body in years, I hesitantly
stepped out of the shower and braced myself for what was most assuredly going
to depress me...
There it was. My razor. On the side of the bathtub where it
so does NOT belong. Tilting my head to
one side, I quickly ran through the only three possible reasons it was there:
1.) Henk had decided to forgo his electric shaving device and purvey my very
old, very French razor or 2.) Wuzzy had decided to rid himself of 50 lbs of fur
before the hot summer months (I quickly realized this was not possible because
he only has claws, not hands). And lastly, the thought which I was attempting
to mentally block began bouncing around my head: My 12 year old daughter had
decided to start shaving.
OMG! Trying to find a happy place in my mind, I
jumped back into the shower and lathered up again. Then I just stood there reliving the past few
weeks...
The Monday after
Easter, my sweet little daughter came home from school with a large stuffed
bunny. As it was kind of hard to hide, I
immediately felt inquisitory. "Was
there a contest at school and you won?"
No, Mom. "Did everyone get a
stuffed bunny as an Easter present from the Principal?" Really, Mom? No.
"Oh. Where did you get the
bunny?" Emile responded with exactly what I knew
she was going to say: My boyfriend gave it to me.
My smile faded as I
realized Emile had not told me she had a boyfriend. "What boyfriend?" Mine, she stoically responded. OK, time for a sit down talk.
What is your
boyfriend's name? - Ryan
Oh, that's a nice
name. Reminds me of Lindsey's husband. -
Yes, Mom.
Silence.
Well, is he in your
grade? - Yes.
That's good, because
age differences can be tricky! (Snort,
giggle - Me) - Whatever.
Ok, what kind of guy
is Ryan? - Dunno, Mom.
What!?? What does that
mean? You said he was your boyfriend! -
Mom, puleez.
Silence.
Is Ryan in Band? - Not
sure.
Does he play sports? -
Mom!
What does he want to
be when he grows up? - (No words, just eye daggers.)
Am I bothering you,
Sweetie? I just want to know a little
about your boyfriend. - Freak.
Wow. Well, does he... - Mom? Can you just go away,
I need to text Ryan.
Oh, OK. -
Silence. Leave the
room.
So that was fun.
The following week I
received a text from Ryan: Hello Mrs. Tilleman, this is Ryan, Emile's
boyfriend. I was wondering if I could
take Emile to the movies this weekend. Thank U.
Ryan
End of text. I waited what I thought was a good amount of
time (25 minutes) before texting him back.
Hello Ryan. This is
Emile's Mom. What movie? What time? Where?
We will need a note from your doctor, psychiatrist, dentist and 5
references (double spaced, typed) plus a blood and urine sample for disease and
drug testing. And most importantly Emile's father and I must meet you and your
parents before you take Emile anywhere.
Capiche?
After exchanging a few
texts, it was decided that Ryan and his parents would come by to meet us on
Thursday after school. Of all times, I
was called out for some STATs that afternoon at a hospital 30 miles away and
didn't return until nearly 8:00 pm.
Lucky for me, everyone was still holding court.
I must say that Ryan
is a lovely young man: a good look in
his twinkling eye, easy with a laugh and rather forthcoming with hearty
handshakes.
Regarding their
proposed "date", we parents decided that the "Hunger Games"
movie was probably a bit too much for the kids and gave them the choice of a
Dr. Seuss movie or nothing. Hats off to
Ryan for not even flinching!
Many handshakes later,
the Ryan clan left and I retired to my bedroom to look through Emile's
Babybook.
On Saturday, the kids
had their "date", complete with tacos at a restaurant after the
movie. Yes, I had planned a nice dinner
for when Emile returned but it appears she would prefer other company than
boring ol' Mom and Dad. Although I ate
Emile's portion just to stave off my depression, it didn't work. And then I bloated.
I have been told to
monitor Emile's Facebook account (Thanks, Cynthia!) to make sure there are no
predators mingling in her "Friends".
And so I did. Just before writing
this. Like 5 minutes ago. Guess what?
Emile describes Saturday night as "the best night ever".
What about all those
times when we played Uno? Weren't those
fun nights?
How about that night
in Florence, after we climbed so high above the Arno and ate gelato? And that dinner in Paris, after the Eiffel
Tower? Or Indonesian food at Betty and Cees's?
Remember Pizza and movies with Nana, Grampa, Lindsey, the other Ryan and
us? Pajamas and Napoleon Dynamite Night was fun, wasn't it? Or watching Gladiator with Sagey before we
went to Rome? etc...
And then Emile borrowed
my razor the next day.
Turning off the water,
I realized I am in denial and what a happy place that is! Glad I found it and I will live the next few
months in perfect and oblivious glee.
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