Mostly True Memoirs

The Storm of the Century

Yesterday was the Storm of the Century.

It had been hyped in the news all week.

It looked like the brunt of the storm was going to hit to the east of us.

Sure enough, by the end of the day, all we had gotten was some drizzle.

The Grown Son decided to take the dog for a walk before dinner.

While they were out, the Storm of the Century screamed alive with gusto.

Wind, thunder, lightening and an absolute deluge of rain blasted down all at once.

“Are they still out there?” The Husband asked me, shouting over the storm.

“Yep.” I hollered back.

He drove out to rescue them, and eventually returned home with everyone soaking wet.

Even The Husband, who was driving, was soaking wet.

I’m not sure how that happened.

The dog was freaked out.

She huddled in a towel, shivering, on my lap.

She’s an old girl, and not so enthusiastic about exercise on a good day.

We may never get her back on a walk again.

This morning we even had a bit of snow.

Again, the dog was not amused.

I think we have entered a new phase of Cranky Old Dog.

Thanks to the Storm of the Century.

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Mostly True Memoirs

Clean Freak

The Grown Son has been staying with us for a few months because 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.

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Mostly True Memoirs

Crowded Grocery Store

I ran into the market for some milk.

Holy smokes – it was crowded!

Who knew that New Years Eve was such a big grocery shopping day?

The aisles were jam packed with lame-brained shoppers blocking the aisles while texting, arguing with each other or just looking lost and bewildered.

I seriously wanted to tackle a few of those aisle-blockers.

But I didn’t.

I got my milk and stood in the very long quick-check line.

A woman stormed by, angry, yelling on her phone.

“…and I just HAD to come to the f**ing grocery store today!”

I burst out laughing.

I wasn’t laughing at her.

I was laughing with her.

For whatever that’s worth.

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Mostly True Memoirs

Peace at Last

Yeah, it’s true.

The week between Christmas and New Years is an existential void.

What time is it?

What day is it?

When was the last time I changed out of my pajamas?

But you don’t really experience a true existential void unless you have a diabetic in the family.

Or even two diabetics.

Who are both running post-holiday high blood sugars.

And are very cranky.

I solved this problem by telling them that it’s time to clean house.

They both disappeared.

One of them locked himself in one bedroom to watch the Simpsons marathon.

The other one locked himself in another bedroom to watch Bowl games.

Peace at last…

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Mostly True Memoirs

Christmas Cheer

At the grocery store, a very, very, very old man was getting a cart out of the cart corral.

He was moving very, very, very slowly.

I wondered if I should help him.

But maybe he would be insulted.

He finally, finally, finally got his cart, but he saw that I was waiting, so he gave it to me.

And then he started back on his very, very, very slow trek to get another cart.

I felt guilty.

I should be helping him.

I shouldn’t be letting him help me.

I said, “Thank you, Sir.”

His face lit up with an enormous smile.

Maybe I did help him after all.

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Mostly True Memoirs

Y2K Baby

And just like that, my 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.

I’m proud to be your Mama.

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