Departure

Last Edit September 2, 1998

My almost seventeen stayed up all night -- so he could be sure I woke up in time for the plane. My flight was for 6:30 AM so I needed to leave by 4:30 AM in case I got lost.
I've never seen the 880 Nimitz running at 70mph -- not in the three years I've lived up here.
My child expressed worry when I was close to departure. He didn't like my leaving him. He didn't like my flying without him. I got a big bear hug.
Sweet boy.
Of course, he finished up by telling me that he now needs a vacation. Massachusetts? Wyoming? San Diego? Obviously I need to book passage as soon as I get home.
Mothers must pay their dues after all. Especially when they run away from home to chase after tall blond gods. One in particular.
Fabio.
Sigh.
I left the tape measure at home. My son is well on his way to being taller (1/2 inch to go), and, if he starts working out, as well endowed chest-wise. He's already great to hug -- when he isn't busy smothering me or pressing my nose into his armpit.
I made the plane. And decided I needed a bigger suitcase. If there is a store anywhere in Little Rock I may indulge. As it is, I carried on the dress, squished up in a garbage bag inside the smaller suitcase.(I say smaller because this carry-on bag was smaller than my normal purse!) Shoes, makeup, medicine - cameras and film complete what I carry. Everything else is in the checked bag. Just in case.
I am flying with my hair pinned up - sort of half combed and half not.
It's a long flight. A mad dash through Dallas.
And a prop plane into Little Rock.
My luck, I'll run into him. Hope not.
I hope my dress survives. I hope I do. I haven't updated my will.
(I do have one.)
And I owe lots of taxes in September.
But these problems I will put away. I have enough worry lines.
I'm not a bad mommy. My son can get to the doctor. On Friday. He has money and a new bike.
I left food. He can cook. And he's going on an outing on Saturday and Sunday.
I fed and watered the animals. I cleaned the cat pan. Took out the garbage.
My child is cleaning his room. He has decided to enter his senior year organized to the hilt.
He has learned to wash and dry his clothes.
Alleluia!
His room is so clean he wants a new rug.
He has put me to shame -- living with boxes piled around me -- clothes on open racks, shoes in a heap. Computer gear everywhere.
I guess I need to find a contractor when I get home. Tried two already.
Time for the room addition.
Way past due.
Of course, he cleans by putting stuff into my room, the hall, and the family room.
I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I didn't have to step over size 12 shoes and jeans dropped as they fell to the floor wherever he was standing.
And every TV is always on -- even when he is home alone. On three different channels.
Two I might understand --- but three? Well, he sleeps in my bed when I am gone.
As I said, he's a sweet boy.