Hard Escape

The saying "That which does not kill you will make you stronger." Isn't necessarily true. The Hot Fudge /Carmel Sundays I love so much haven't killed me, but they certainly haven't made me stronger. I try not to think about them, but the yummy taste keeps sneaking back to my mind. I need to stand strong so I'm not defeated by the yummy Gremlins. It's funny how instantly after that last delicious bite, I'm filled with self loathing and regret which lasts as long as my hunger stays at bay. As soon as my tummy starts to rumble..... A Hot Fudge/Carmel Sunday starts looking better and better. Ahh, the taste is bittersweet and

hard to escape. If only the sweetness was good for me and supposed to be on my diet plan. In a perfect world whip cream, hot fudge, and carmel would be considered health food. Having all of it I wanted would be the cherry on top of the perfect world.

Houston, We've Reached a New Low

We don't look bored in this picture because all the kids are behind the photographer making us look more interesting.

When I was pregnant with my youngest, my husband and I worked as counselors for our church youth camp. We had one camper who whined THE ENTIRE camp because he "was bored." At the end of the camp, they always gave out little awards (The messy award, the friendly award). The little bored camper got the "I'm Bored Award." When they announced his award he fell from his chair, crying and rolling on the floor. It had been a fun week, but that was a priceless moment that topped the week off as the funniest moment of all. Today marks a month since we became empty-nesters. Now I remember why we had children. . .  We're just dang boring without em. Sadly, we're like Homer and Marge Simpson, sittin on the couch watchin our stories. Well, maybe not quite as bad as Homer and Marge, but pretty dang close. The good thing about empty nesting is, the grocery bill has plummeted. I've been on a cooking strike. Luckily, I'm married to a man who is perfectly content with frozen dinners. Well, I guess there is the slight chance my cooking is so bad that it's not missed, but for narcissistic purposes, let's go with the content thing. It's so boring at our house that I walked into the kitchen the other day and He said. . . "I'm bored. We should go on a hike or go bowling or something."  I just paused for a minute then said. . . "Yeah, we should." Then we just continued on with all the things we weren't doing. Yes, Houston we've reached a new low.

Apron String Heart

I pulled into our driveway in my cyber green Beetle.  A tiny voice in the back seat asked.... "Momma, are you going to make me move out when I turn 18 like you did Sissy?"  A little piece of my heart broke as I explained to my 8 year old that mommy didn't make Sissy move away, rather she grew up and wanted to go to college..... "Well I'm never going to college, I want to stay here with you and daddy." I knew he was struggling with his sister's absence; with 11 years difference between them, she had been a mother figure to him, letting him sleep with her so "Bubba couldn't smother him in his sleep" like he teased him of doing. His teacher had told me he was struggling emotionally with her move. She said he came to school every day and told her exactly how many days left until he would see his Sissy again; kind of like a child whose father goes off to war. He was most comfortable when the entire family was safe and accounted for each evening before he went to bed. If they weren't, he would inquire as to the exact time they were expected back.... "I just rest better when everyone is home." he would tell me. I poked my head in his bedroom the other night to tell him dinner was ready. He sat on the love seat holding his game

controller, his girlfriend sat beside him. His face is a gingerbread brown from working his summer job, but it is the same face that stared thoughtfully out the car window when I picked him up from daycare all those years ago. His bedroom walls that had been covered with band posters and teenage mementos, has been stripped bare. Boxes and packing supplies are stacked in the living room, waiting to be filled. In a couple of weeks, all his worldly possessions will fill a U-Haul and spirit him away to the City to begin his adult (or almost adult life). I think on some level, I thought he never would grow up and

leave momma and daddy, but the pulling force of independence and the opportunity to live close to his siblings is stronger than this mom's apron strings. I'm still not sure I've recovered from having his sister and brother leave, and now I'm preparing yet again, to set the child I've nurtured and loved, loose in a cruel world that doesn't have his best interest at heart. "I've done it before." I tell myself.... "I can do it again." But part of me wants to chain him to the past and never let him go as the other part of me fumbles with the knot of my apron string heart.