It has been 45 minutes since dinner, so now my Son is back in the kitchen having a bowl of cereal. At 6’ tall and 145 lbs – he is starving All.The.Time. I used to feel sorry for him. Now I’m resentful. Will I still be fretting about my weight when I’m 90?
It’s been a good week for notes on the kitchen table. My Son left me a note yesterday – “Out setting things on fire. Home for dinner.” Smartass.
I got home today to a huge note saying – “DO NOT OPEN THE FRONT DOOR.
I called my Daughter’s cell. “What’s the up?"
“Mom, I trapped a bee the size of a sharpie marker between the door and the screen. It was a cage match, me in my bathrobe flapping around the house, trying to get away from beezilla. Whatever you do, don’t let it back in the house.”
It was a bumblebee at least 4 inches long, really pissed. I flung open the screen door and ran for my life. That sucker chased me around the yard. I was shrieking and flapping my arms when it flew off over the treetops. It was prolly chasing the hawk.
The all time great note went to Mr. W.
Years ago, he found a note on the kitchen table saying, “get them” with an arrow pointing at two plastic hand grenades. The minute he picked them up our Son, then 8, popped out of the slot between the fridge and the wall where we keep the broom. Apparently it was a pitched battle, brawling around the house. Mr. W still has the note – a treasure.
Tomorrow I retrieve my beloved Miss Peg from the airport. She will be a mess, 27 hour plane ride from Thailand, a funeral in St. Louis and then onward to me in DC. I have a whole lot of NOTHING planned for us. I think she’ll be glad to have a quiet space, cooler temps, sushi with a side of movies.
Note to self: I am a very lucky person.