Grand Slam Communication
What else will make you crazy during social isolation?
The Grown Son has been staying with us.
He is working from home.
My home.
He huffed in objection when I asked him to pick up his mountain of crap so I could sweep the floor.
“But we’re on quarantine,” he objected.
“My standards are not on quarantine,” I informed him.
He moved his stuff.
I swept.
He was annoyed.
Whatever.
Bob risked his life and good health to go on a TP run to Walmart.
The shelves were cleared out.
But for a good reason.
There was a guy standing behind a counter doling out one package per customer.
That’ll work.
Next, Bob checked out the beer aisle.
There appeared to be no shortage.
He brought home a LOT of beer.
We are now well prepared for this quarantine.
We’re in the midst of an international health crisis.
We’re quarantined.
We’re on house arrest.
And there’s no toilet paper to be purchased anywhere.
But still, it’s my mama’s birthday.
And we have a tradition.
She’s been gone nearly ten years, but I still make her favorite dinner on her birthday.
There’s no reason to stop now.
We’ll have chicken tetrazzini tonight.
Happy birthday Mom.
I miss you every day.
The dog barked to go out at 5:00 am.
Bob dealt with it.
When I got up some time later, I expected to find the coffee brewed.
I was bitterly disappointed to see that Bob had fallen back to sleep on the couch.
And there was no coffee.
The beauty of not getting up with the dog is the expectation of hot coffee waiting for me.
Bob laughed and laughed and laughed.
Yeah, happy Leap Day to you too.
I’ll get my revenge.
On the next Leap Day.
I woke up this morning to find that I only had one earring.
These earrings were a birthday gift from my mom many, many years ago.
I never change them.
My ears are allergic to most earrings.
But these ones are gold, and they have been perfect for years.
And now one of them is missing.
I shook out my pajamas and my bedding.
No earring.
Yesterday I cleaned the house.
I dusted and mopped.
I did laundry and changed sheets and vacuumed.
The earring could be anywhere.
If I bought myself a new pair of earrings, it wouldn’t be the same.
Because these were a gift from my mom.
I searched the house hopelessly.
I checked the washer and the dryer.
I checked the clean laundry.
I checked the vacuum canister.
In the end, when I had given up all hope, I found it!
It was on the rug under my desk.
It must have fallen off after I had vacuumed.
Yay – I can continue to wear my mom’s birthday gift!
On this day, February 4, I became a mama.
My baby boy is now a grown man.
He inspires me every day with his determination.
And his work ethic.
And his quirky, subversive sense of humor.
I was a little worried on the day he was born.
I don’t know anything about sports. Or cars.
How am I going to raise a boy?
All these years later, I still don’t know anything about cars.
But this boy has turned me into a Super Fan.
Happy birthday to you, Kiddo.
I’m proud to be your mama.
I love my Grown Sons.
I love them more than life itself.
They are my pride and joy.
My reason for living.
But every now and then…
Every now and then I’d like to punch them in the throat.
The Grown Son was hangry.
He complained bitterly that there was no food in the house.
And he was starving.
There is plenty of food in the house.
It’s just not ready to eat.
It’s in the form of ingredients.
And it needs to be cooked.
He’s moving out to his own apartment this week.
He is going to starve.
The Grown Son has been staying with us for a few months since he transferred his job to our city.
He will be moving into his own place in two weeks.
Up until this point, he has been a pretty thoughtful housemate.
He has kept his bathroom sort of clean, and he has kind of picked up after himself in the kitchen.
But now he has a short-timer’s attitude.
The bathroom is a wreck.
Dishes are everywhere.
Laundry has exploded into places where laundry shouldn’t be.
Two more weeks, two more weeks…
Two more weeks and then I can get my clean freak on.
And just like that, my Y2K baby has turned 20.
He was born in the final, waning days of 1999.
He loved to lord over his classmates that he wasn’t just a few weeks or a few months older than them, or a year older, or even a decade or a century older.
No, he was an entire millennium older than everyone else.
These are awesome bragging rights for all kids born in December of 1999.
And he still sometimes opens conversations with, “Back in the 90s…”
Because he was there.
For a couple of days.
Happy birthday, Kiddo.