Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," recognizing motherhood as a bond forged by the Great Goddesses, by whatever names they care to be called!
I'll bet if you said, "Here kitty kitty kitty," and you were calling The Goddess, she would come. She knows your needs.
Yesterday afternoon at about 4:00, my daughter The Heir left for an overnight visit to the college in which she has enrolled for the fall, 2008 semester.
I was perfectly okay with this. Happy as a clam.
Yeah, crap. I've been a weepy mess for weeks.
It's unusual for mothers and daughters to have relationships that aren't touched by tension, but The Heir and I have enjoyed a blissful partnership since the day they stuck her tiny little sweetness into my arms for the first time. Maybe two, three harsh words between us in 19 years ... and I don't remember the occasion.
We do flea markets and road trips, we go to weird performance art shows and poetry get-togethers, buzzard festivals, Druid Grove, thrift store. She's never had a boyfriend to pull her time away from me, and we've just done our thing. And it's been a marvelous thing, a wonderful thing, a holy thing, as if we knew each other in another life (which maybe we did).
This morning I came downstairs to make school lunches. It's a quirk of both of my daughters that they won't eat the lunches made by their schools. So I pack lunch for them every day. I figure I've made more than 2,000 lunches for The Heir in 12 years of schooling.
(Hey, my bagel guy says I've saved a ton of dough by doing this, that school lunches are getting expensive!)
Anyway, I got ready to make the lunches, and I remembered that The Heir was out at her college. And there sat the Jiff on the counter, ready to become a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
I put the Jiff back in the cupboard and used all of the remaining paper towels to stem my crying. I can't imagine life without The Heir under my roof!
I know, I know, whatcha gonna do? She's gotta get under way, so she can buy her own bagels and Jiff in the future. It's just hard, that's all.
Gotta cheer myself up. Time to visit YouTube and watch "vulture phone book." That'll do the trick.