He was a teenager. That’s the first bit of information I should share with you before you judge me.
From the age of 13 to 15, he changed from a huggable, lovable son who bought me flowers to a changing-voiced male who thought that most of what I said was either simple, silly, or just plain stupid.
I understood. After all, I wasn’t ancient enough to not remember how I felt as a teen. Continue reading
Once upon a time, a new being was pulled out of my belly, literally, and after a weighing and a cleaning, she was placed in my arms. I was awake and could feel nothing below my breasts. But my arms tingled with the weight of her, and my eyes watered with her beauty. Continue reading
“
We’d be happy to watch the kids for an hour tomorrow night,” I said to my son.
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to jump after them like fireflies in a dark sky, placing them in a glass jar with the lid shut tight.
Instead, the offer to babysit flew away from me and into my son’s grateful hand.
“Thanks, Mom. We’ll drop them off at 6. We won’t be more than an hour. 7:30 okay?”
7:30? What happened to an easy hour with three little boys: 1½, 3, and 4½? Just enough time to give them a cookie, read them a book, and offer a bottle and a sippy cup before their mom and dad retrieved them.
“Oh no!” I said loudly on his way out the door. Continue reading
I look at him across the table, thinking, who is he? Who is this tall, intense, handsome, stiff, strange man sitting with me at La Provence, eating his asparagus quiche daintily as if it were made of flower pedals?
I’ve known him for more than 30 years – intimately – and I truly have not a clue who he is. It was so much easier, when he was my baby boy, and even when he was a burgeoning almost-teenager, still giving me hard hugs at night. He told me stories about his war games with his best friend back then, and his dreams of being an importer/exporter, even though he had no idea what that meant. He was chubby, with a wonderful chuckle and a dimple as wide as a dime. Continue reading
I needed the money, so I accepted the request. The two little Beemer boys were hellions, but the good news was that Dr. Beemer and his wife didn’t need me until 7 o’clock. I’d let the kids watch their favorite show – Gilligan’s Island – feed them some cookies, and then get them to bed by 8.
So this is the tale of our castaways,
they’re here for a long, long time.
They’ll have to make the best of things,
it’s an uphill climb.
(Gilligans Theme Song Lyrics | MetroLyrics)
I walked over to their house at 6:55. Hard to believe that that they lived right next door. Once I went inside that house, it was if I were miles away. Mrs. Beemer came to the door a second after I rang the bell. I was sure she couldn’t wait to get out of there. She was not in control of that household. Neither was the good doctor. Continue reading
roughwighting 