I have well-polished hardwood floors in my home. (Thank you to my dear brother-in-law, Jaye for sanding and refinishing them right before I moved in.) But if you run across them, slip, grab the banister, and tear something in your shoulder on the way down, you will be sorry. And if you are foolhardy enough to get on a plane the next morning to go see the love of your life and a certain little girl named Aurora, aka Rora Bug, you will suffer excruciating pain without the comfort of your familiar surroundings, your own bed, bathroom, kitchen, etc. You will use up entire bottles of ibuprofen (yes, it was a small bottle) and discover that Advil works better than the generic brand. You will have sudden heart-felt compassion and empathy for anyone who’s ever had a torn ligament or muscle, bad shoulder, or broken bone.
The first day I drove into Lebanon on hwy 64, I felt joyful. I drove that road every Sunday and Wed. night for 12 years. But after about 3 days, I remembered why I love living a couple miles from everything. And this morning when I pulled out onto State Street in Orem to go to work, I felt that same surge of joy. Utah is home now. As much as I love Missouri, it’s not where I’m supposed to be right now.
Luckily for Rora Bug, I couldn’t hold her with my bad shoulder. On the third day when her mother put her on my lap, she burst into tears. The look on her face said, “Mommy, how could you BETRAY me like this and put me on that grandma lady’s lap?? I thought you loved me!” So I didn’t push it. I told her that when she’s three years old, she might change her mind about me like her little cousins, Victoria and Claudya have done. It was fun to visit with Spencer, Michelle and Aurora. We went to dinner a couple of times and saw a movie and had some fun discussions. Spencer is a smart kid.
Spencer loaded my suitcase and book bag into the car the last day and I said, “I had high hopes of doing homework while I was here and I didn’t do any.”
He replied, “Well, if you weren’t out so late with Keith every night, you could have gotten some done.” Oh, Spencer, you make me laugh. Thank you for extending my life a little bit with laughter. Does anyone else remember 17 year old Spencer and see the irony? Maybe you would only see it if you were trying to parent him back then. :-) I think I deserve some credit here. I always made it back to Spencer’s house by midnight. This means I had to leave Lebanon by 11:15 pm. And it brought back a memory that has been waiting for the right moment to be blogged about. When we lived in Missouri many years ago, Richard, my oldest son, had a midnight curfew and chafed vehemently at it. This is not an exaggeration. Just ask him. He wanted to be able to leave Lebanon at midnight and I insisted that he be HOME by midnight. After he came in a few times at 1 am and we had lots of discussion about it, he said, “Fine then! I am moving out.” I think he was 18 at this time.
I said, “Where are you going to go?”
“I’ve already talked to Keith Chandler about it and he said I could move into his house.”
Great. (Sarcasm font needed here.) I knew Keith was a good and decent person, though he had never said one word to me. But I also knew there would be no curfew or rules for Richard at that house. I tried to be supportive and I let the younger boys go there a lot while Richard lived there. I was there several times to drop off or pick up kids but never saw Keith once. I didn’t know then that he worked 7 am to 2 pm at one job and 3 pm to 11 pm at his other job. In other words, I didn’t know he was a crazy person. Melody has a memory of being at Keith’s house late in the evening because JAC was going to pick the kids up there on his way home from Chicago. She tried to watch a movie downstairs by herself while all the boys were upstairs and she got scared. The kids all thought the house was creepy. I can see how a child would think that.
Now the homework awaits in larger than usual quantities. I am happy to be back home. Thank you, Melody for holding down the fort while I was gone.
Thank you, Keith, for a great time.
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