I asked Jeff, "Mom's anniversary is on Saturday. I was thinking of going up to see her. I could take the train. It's cheap. What do you think?"
Jeff replied, "Sure. That's fine." This he said quickly, much more quickly than normal.
"I'd be going by myself," I clarified.
"I know," he said gently.
"Without the boys," I specified.
"I understand," he murmured.
What he understood was something I didn't. While I did want to see my mom and help make the 24th pass quickly, Jeff could see that IIIIIIIIIIIII waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaas goiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing craaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaazy in Testosterone Land. I needed some girl time, I was depressed for some nebulous unspecified reason I couldn't identify, I hadn't been away by myself since February 2012, and the summer had stretched into a long infinity of sci fi, fantasy, super heroes, wrestling, legos, preteen puberty, wii background noise, and did-didn't-did-didn't-did-didn't-did-didn't.
It's not that I don't love hanging out with my boys. I do. I even like the new Star Wars role playing game (as long as I get to knit when it's not my turn). But I did think fleetingly, while trying to figure out whether I should confront the Gamorrean guards head on or sneak up and attack them from behind, if I had a daughter, we would do our nails in the other room right now and leave the saving of the galaxy to the men.
Well, I don't have a daughter, but I do have a mama, and she willingly answered my desperate plea to escape to someplace far removed from anything remotely resembling a Minecraft tutorial video.
It was just what I needed. We had a lovely weekend, and Mom spoiled me and ministered to me and bought me ice cream and drove me all around and laughed with me and missed Dad with me and understood me and loved me.
And now, for
my sharing your viewing pleasure, a pictorial journey through our weekend.
I stored them in my bedroom, where I proceeded to injure myself on them regularly as I passed by. We brought them to Washington when we moved, but we didn't use them. They just took up space in our garage and kept picking on me.
A month or so ago, at James's birthday party, Mom mentioned that she could use some more sawhorses.
I piped up immediately, "You can have the ones Dad made. They're in our garage. I rescued them because I thought they were going in the yard sale, but we're not using them. You want 'em?"
She wanted 'em.
She was also appalled and disappointed that I would even think of selling them in a yard sale. DAD made them, for cryin' out loud.
I assured her I wasn't going to sell them in a yard sale. I'd RESCUED them from the yard sale.
"Well, I'm glad you decided to keep them," she replied.
"Well, we don't need them anymore, so you can have them," I repeated.
At that point in the conversation, I noticed slight shifts in the posture of those listening. Especially those in my family of origin. I suspect they all began a quest to fight old hardwiring and a) not intervene, and b) remember that everything was going to be okay even if they didn't intervene.
Mom and I continued our show-stopping circular conversation about sawhorses and yard sales and who had what intentions and how the sawhorses came to be in my garage. (Except they weren't in the garage anymore. Jeff had long since walked away with addled brains, retrieved the sawhorses, and stowed them in the back of Mom's SUV.)
Finally, in an effort to change the subject (slightly), Mom said, "So, when is your yard sale?"
I looked at her blankly. "What yard sale?"
"You said you were having a yard sale."
"No, I didn't."
"Yes, you did. The one you were going to sell Dad's sawhorses in before you changed your mind and rescued them."
As my brother, Seth, threw his head back in total exasperation, I threw mine back with gales of laughter. When I could breathe again, I gasped, "No. I'm not having a yard sale. I thought YOU were going to sell Dad's sawhorses in YOUR yard sale. In IDAHO. That's the yard sale I rescued them from."
Mom giggled. After which she exclaimed that she would NEVER have intentionally sold those sawhorses in the yard sale.
We concluded, much to the relief of everyone else at the party, that she had put them in the yard sale section of the garage because they would make useful table legs under a sheet of plywood on which items that WERE for sale would be displayed. So when I "rescued" them, she ended up with one less table available for her yard sale.
But all's well that ends well, and the sawhorses now live safely in Mom's back yard, light years away from any kind of yard sale, functioning in their intended role as a jobsite prop.
Long live the sawhorses!!
So this is the view when you walk in the front door. Check out the dining room light fixtures. Shnazzy. And lots of happy natural light.
And there you have it. The grand tour of Mom's halfway house. (Halfway done, that is.)
Whatcom Watch Online says used to be called Harbor Point Park and is now called Zuanich Point Park. It started out as a little kite-flying park, but it soon became a memorial to fishermen lost at sea.
Thanks, Mama, for treating me to such a lovely weekend. I love you!