That Is Why
So, after my freak-out session earlier this week, I requested and was sort-of begrudgingly granted A Day Off. Here’s what I did today:
Mr. C’s former nanny had asked if she could keep him at her house last night, which allowed Bee and me to sleep off the potential hangovers we may have had from the five course, local-food-only dinner we attended last night. I still awoke this morning at Mr. C’s usual time. That is why I know I’m getting old.
Bee and I took a motorcycle ride up the mountain towards the spot where we were married five years ago this week. I haven’t been on the back of a motorcycle since I was pregnant. My rear end felt the absence. That is why I will never get a motorcycle, as much as Bee would want me to (well, that and the fact that I can’t even keep a bicycle upright).
Bee made French toast, then I left to go to my favorite theater to see Zookeeper. My $4 ticket came with lunch: popcorn and a 100 Grand bar. That is why I love that place.
I ordered a cherry milkshake from a drive-thru on my way to my favorite mass-produced clothing store. Three hours, forty-five try-ons, and seventy-dollars later, I walked out with eight new wardrobe pieces, a slight feeling of euphoria, and -- OK -- a teeny sense of guilt. That is why I adore/abhor their 60%-off sale.
I headed to my favorite park, where it took a mere fifteen minutes to find a secluded spot away from any weddings. I sat on a blanket, feasted on fresh bread and olive oil, and got thoroughly depressed by a few pages of Accordion Crimes, by E. Annie Proulx. That is why I don’t read “intelligent” literature.
I drove to the independent movie theater to see One Day with my free ticket that expired in May: luckily, no one noticed the expiration date. I told myself I’d buy heavily at their snack bar to make up for my little cheat; however, there was such a long line that I had to forgo the toasted bread and brie in order to find a seat in time for the movie. Two hours later, I left the theater a little angry and confused as to the point of the film. That is why I stay away from “intelligent” movies.
I headed home at nine p.m. S.B. was up in his room, Mr. C was in bed, and Bee was getting ready to watch a movie and eat Oreos. Bee informed me that they’d had a fantastic day, that he’d forgotten how nice it was not to have to deal with the dynamics of one more person, that Mr. C had never even asked about me, and that I should get lost more often. Which, perhaps because of the funk the last movie had put me in, kind of made me feel hurt. Geeeeze, maybe I shouldn’t have bothered coming home! Especially since I can’t seem to help but look a gift horse in the mouth. That is why I should never beg for things.
I snuck upstairs to peek in on Mr. C, who – it turns out – was wide awake. He smiled hugely when he saw me, stood up in bed and held his arms out for hugs. He told me all about his day (as much as a three-year-old can), and finished with “Mommy, I missed you!”.
And that is why I’m glad to be home.
Mr. C’s former nanny had asked if she could keep him at her house last night, which allowed Bee and me to sleep off the potential hangovers we may have had from the five course, local-food-only dinner we attended last night. I still awoke this morning at Mr. C’s usual time. That is why I know I’m getting old.
Bee and I took a motorcycle ride up the mountain towards the spot where we were married five years ago this week. I haven’t been on the back of a motorcycle since I was pregnant. My rear end felt the absence. That is why I will never get a motorcycle, as much as Bee would want me to (well, that and the fact that I can’t even keep a bicycle upright).
Bee made French toast, then I left to go to my favorite theater to see Zookeeper. My $4 ticket came with lunch: popcorn and a 100 Grand bar. That is why I love that place.
I ordered a cherry milkshake from a drive-thru on my way to my favorite mass-produced clothing store. Three hours, forty-five try-ons, and seventy-dollars later, I walked out with eight new wardrobe pieces, a slight feeling of euphoria, and -- OK -- a teeny sense of guilt. That is why I adore/abhor their 60%-off sale.
I headed to my favorite park, where it took a mere fifteen minutes to find a secluded spot away from any weddings. I sat on a blanket, feasted on fresh bread and olive oil, and got thoroughly depressed by a few pages of Accordion Crimes, by E. Annie Proulx. That is why I don’t read “intelligent” literature.
I drove to the independent movie theater to see One Day with my free ticket that expired in May: luckily, no one noticed the expiration date. I told myself I’d buy heavily at their snack bar to make up for my little cheat; however, there was such a long line that I had to forgo the toasted bread and brie in order to find a seat in time for the movie. Two hours later, I left the theater a little angry and confused as to the point of the film. That is why I stay away from “intelligent” movies.
I headed home at nine p.m. S.B. was up in his room, Mr. C was in bed, and Bee was getting ready to watch a movie and eat Oreos. Bee informed me that they’d had a fantastic day, that he’d forgotten how nice it was not to have to deal with the dynamics of one more person, that Mr. C had never even asked about me, and that I should get lost more often. Which, perhaps because of the funk the last movie had put me in, kind of made me feel hurt. Geeeeze, maybe I shouldn’t have bothered coming home! Especially since I can’t seem to help but look a gift horse in the mouth. That is why I should never beg for things.
I snuck upstairs to peek in on Mr. C, who – it turns out – was wide awake. He smiled hugely when he saw me, stood up in bed and held his arms out for hugs. He told me all about his day (as much as a three-year-old can), and finished with “Mommy, I missed you!”.
And that is why I’m glad to be home.
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