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Tuesday, February 01, 2005

Routine Broken

Broken Routine

I'm having a hard monring. See? Can't even type. I'm sitting THIS close to tears. Just got home from dropping B and C off at school. Then I came home and hugged A. I wanted her to know how much I appreciate her. I never had the kind of issues with her that I seem to be having with the younger two. God (or whoever) has a really twisted sense of humor. Gave me the complacent, mild, easy version before giving me the true test. Gave me the calm before the storms. It's only 8 am and I'm feeling less loved than dirt. But things could be worse, so I'm trying to find the bright side of this morning. Later on, the Grommet and Caris will call and they'll probably apologize for being asswipes. Right before they ask me to come and pick them up. I'll accept their apology. But I might think twice about picking up their ungrateful butts. Let 'em walk.

This weekend, my friend N invited me to come away with her to her dad's little beach house in Mexico, a short 2 hour drive from our homes. The problem is, it wasn't just the two of us. She was bringing her son and was allowing him to invite two friends, one of which is; you guessed it, The Grommet. So, now what I envision as a nice little getaway, has turned into "JACKASS Jr." Three edgy 15 year-olds. All mouths on legs. Did I mention that my friend N is going through a divorce after finding out her hub of 25 years was porking a co-worker twenty years his junior and decided that he liked it so much that he was leaving N and the kids? No? Oh well yeah, there's that. So let's look at roll call for the "restful" getaway weekend again shall we?

1 frazzled and emotional, soon to be divorced friend
3 mini Bam Margera wannabes
1 Pua on the verge of breakdown but holding it together
1 beautiful blue bottle of Tequila Corralejo helping Pua hold it together.

Did I mention that it rained the whole first day? Stuck in a small house with three testosterone-filled, fart-producing, dumbass joke-making, 9th graders. Fun. I felt like I was directing "Dumb, Dumberer, and Dumberest". At one point, my poor friend N went absolutely off her rocker and kicked them out of the house and into the rain. She handed her son a Duraflame log and locked the door. There they stood, the three of them, using their boogie boards for umbrellas, laughing their asses off over....absolutely nothing.

Over the two days, she worked her way through a bottle of scotch and I listened while she sobbed through her lost marriage. My heart ached for her. It ached for her sons. It ached for our friendship; the four of us have been through so much together and now it will change. We always talked about how, one day, N and her hubby would inherit this little beach getaway from her dad, and Charlie and I would buy the little place next door, and the four of us would retire there and watch our pudgy little grandkids play on the beach. Just like we watched our pudgy little kids grow up together. It was a nice dream. But now it will be one person less. I let her cry, then I listened to her anger, then I held her hand while she cried some more. We grieved together.

When the sun finally emerged, I walked with the boys down to the beach while N slept. So many good days at this beach. So many lovely sunsets. So many happy stories. This is where my 3 year old son first flew a kite with his daddy. This is where my girls were first buried in the sand by N's boys and left completely helpless and screaming while they ran away laughing. This is where we wondered ahead what the kids would be like as teenagers, and if they would go to college. This is where we had bonfires and s'mores and listened to mariachis. This is where I first tasted 100% agave tequila and fell in love with it.

I've never been down here and felt a bad day. But this one was melacholy. I watched the boys swim out to meet the waves and thought how lucky they are to be so carefree in this moment. I longed for the comfort of carefree days. I wanted more than anything for my dear friend to not hurt anymore. I thought about her husband and I worried for him. I worried that through his choices his loss would be greater than he could even imagine and I wondered if he was thinking about the things he would now miss. Things like watching these boys celebrating joyous youth. Things like bonfires and dreams of the future. Things like the vibrant laughter of his wife. Right now, I miss that too.


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