Casually mentioned to Zan last night that I would need to hit the laundromat again this weekend to get us through the week.  (New washer and dryer will be delivered next Friday.)  Big Girl chirps up, “Hey Mom…I’ll go with you and help if you want!”  Ahhhh…some lessons do get absorbed.  🙂

My friend Anywho and I are doing something we have never done before.  We are going on a mini-adventure, without husbands or kids. 

We aren’t going far, and we won’t be gone long, but we will be away overnight, and we hardly know what to do with ourselves!!  Leave it to us to be totally obsessed, first and foremost, about where we’re going to eat!   Dreaming of uninterrupted meals, no preparation or dishes, no giving away our best food to our begging darlings.  Then we’re dreaming of drinking wine at every stop since we will have no responsibilities…no driving, no possibilities of a crying child needing us in the night.  I’m dreaming of shopping in the teeny boutiques without a stroller… and no little hands pulling delicates from the shelves or throwing Matchbox cars at the salespeople.  No diaper bag!!!!!  A credit card and license in the pocket is all I’ll need.  Just IMAGINE!!!  And then a night of uninterrupted sleep, and a morning that doesn’t need to begin with the shrieking of Mister at 5:30.  *sigh*  Bliss.

And then comes the reality…we’ll stuff our faces so completely at lunch that we’ll be too full to enjoy a fancy dinner.  And we’ll feel so dizzy after one glass of wine that we’ll be afraid to enjoy another for fear that we’ll end up on a sidestreet passed out somewhere.  And we’ll spend the entire day talking about our kids…and pointing out all the things they would be touching and whining about if they were with us.  And I’ll worry about Mister, if he’s surviving the day without me.  Will he be miserable???  And we won’t be able to sleep well because we are all alone, without the soft, comforting breathing of our families surrounding us.  And we’ll get up in the morning, anxious to get back to the responsibilities we were so anxious to leave behind for a few hours.  *sigh*

I can’t freakin’ wait!!!!  🙂

So, I’ve been without a dryer for two weeks now which prompted a trip to the laundromat for the first time in years.  I didn’t realize I was raising a snob until I announced said trip to my nearly 12 year old daughter on Saturday.  “I’m NOT going to be seen in a LAUNDROMAT!”  I believe my head swung around three times and my eyes burned a fiery red. 

You see, I came from the WORST part of town…When the locals talk about “The John Streeters” with contempt in their voice, I am quick to say, “Be careful what you say…I grew up on John Street.”  That revelation is always met with shock and sputtering apologies.  We may not have had the beautiful house, but we had all the things that were important—that apartment was always overflowing with love, family and friends.  When I was 13, my parents built their dream house, so the rest of my growing up years were spent living in a bit more luxury, but I never took for granted the “nicer” things, and I don’t think I ever lost my connection to my roots. 

In contrast, my children have only known comfort.  Are they “spoiled?”  Apparently yes.   And I’ve always said that I don’t mind them being a bit spoiled as long as they don’t act like it.  Well….guess what?  That plan seems to have backfired a bit.  Now, to be clear, they don’t get everything they want, but they want for nothing.  My daughter’s snobby reaction to the laundromat embarrassed me to the point of mortification.  Made me want to sell all our possessions (except for that brand new washer and dryer that will be delivered on May 22nd…*ahem*) and move to a little house on the prairie. 

Needless to say, I dragged that girl to the laundromat.  She carried clothes, and loaded and unloaded dryers, and she folded and stacked.  And she got a lecture (or two or three) on empathy and snobbiness.  And I was sure to remind her that this comfortable life we lead could disappear in the blink of an eye…she needs survival skills.  And she listened to stories of Zan and my early years, when we lived in a teeny basement apartment and spent every other Sunday at the laundromat, drinking milkshakes, reading books, and holding hands.  Those were some of our best memories. 

Did the message sink in?  We’ll see.  She did come out of there offering to start taking care of her own laundry.  I just might take her up on that.

…there was  a woman sleeping quite soundly in her cozy bed.  That woman was awoken at 2:30 am by her darling husband.  He spoke in a loud frantic whisper, “I NEED YOUR HELP.”  She bounded out of bed, knowing something was wrong…very wrong.  As she descended the stairs behind her husband, she noticed he was holding a large red towel on his head.  Her brain slowly comprehended that “we don’t have red towels,” and in the next moment, as they emerged into the light of the living room, her eyes took in the scene waiting for her there.  Blood everywhere…on the carpet, pooled in a leftover dish on a tray, and in sticky footprints on the hardwood floor.  Drips that trailed through the house, from the living room, through the dining room, and into the kitchen, where more red pools stagnated in the dirty bowls in the sink. 

HOUSTON….WE HAVE A PROBLEM.

So my dear man had what can only be described as a freak accident…he tripped and lost his balance (and no, he hadn’t been drinking…at least that would’ve made for a much more exciting story!)  and fell, hitting his head on our TV cabinet. He wound up with a four and a half inch cut running from the top/back of his head to the front.  I called 911, and wasn’t at all comforted when the very calm dispatcher said, “He will likely lose consciousness soon, so if he does,  don’t panic.  Just turn him on his side.”  Yeah, okay.  Don’t panic.  TOO LATE!  The ambulance arrived hours later.  Okay, it was only 8 minutes, but it felt like hours.  Neighbor ran in the door and saint that she is, helped me clean up all the blood throughout the house while they were prepping Zan for the ride to the hospital.  My Mom arrived to sit with my sleeping babes, and my Dad drove me to the ER where Zan’s brother and wife were already waiting.

An ambulance ride, CT scan, 15 staples, and four hours later, we arrived back at home.   Zan spent the weekend manufacturing red blood cells.  I spent the weekend watching his every move, wrapped in a fog of surreality, and reading Twilight…it was a very bloody weekend.   But Monday is here, and he’s off to work, the girls off to school, and I have a weekend of family and meals to prepare for.  It’s back to business as usual, but it was  a very rude reminder that life can change in the blink of an eye.