Monday, August 2, 2010

It's Time for Mommy to Come Home

All Lydia wants is sleep. Sweet, precious, non-screaming, non-SLAPPY, blissful Saturday morning sleep. Kate, quite possibly, needs just a teensy bit more than that to keep from losing her schmidt. So it's for the mental health of her whole household - her, McLovin, the IHPs and the Geriatric Gimpy Beagle - that she actually leaves the house for a few days. To remind her how wonderful her family is...and, even more, so they can remember how whacktacularly awesome she is. Not to mention there's way less yelling and random threat-making when she's, say, in Alabama. Because as the adage goes: Absence (and several states away) makes the heart grow fonder.

However, there are some very valid reasons for coming home. Like:

Of Course I Know Your Name:
I called home the other night and got the sweet voice of Lefty on the other end. He was so happy to hear from me and I asked about his day and camp and if he was being good and helpful and how was the geriatric gimpy beagle and if everyone was getting along and he was super chatty and that's not really like him, particularly on the phone, mostly because he's got some playing to do, so I was thrilled that he wanted to chat. And at the end of the conversation I said something like, "Well, I love you little man...can you put McGee on the phone so I can say hi to her too?" To which the answer was, "Mom, this IS McGee. You've been talking to me the whole time." I tried to cover and say that of course I knew it was her and I just swapped names because I was thinking about talking to her next. And then she reminded me that I called her 'little man' and now it was her turn to tell me about her day again because I had it all wrong before.

Forty minutes later, she handed the phone over to Lefty, who said, "Hi mom I miss you when are you coming home can I have ice cream after dinner tonight ooh Tony is coming outside to play light sabers bye mom I love you."

And then he hung up.

Keys, Keys, Keys
I love those plastic credit-y card things that hotels use. WAY better than actual keys. Because you can just take them and not worry about it. Problem is, there's like 87 of them in my purse.

Because the IHPs like to play with them and use them like pretend credit cards in their wallets, and I can never remember to take them out when I get home, so they just keep accumulating. Two nights ago, I'm standing outside my hotel room, sliding key after key in the door, then dropping them on the floor when they don't work. And then this couple comes down the hall and walks s-l-o-w-l-y past me as I'm committing what looks like breaking and entering. And muttering each time another one doesn't work. "Nope. Not that one. Dammit..." "Ugh. Super." "Oh, fortheloveofMaude, how many of these damn things do I have?"  

They actually made it to their room, got inside, and then opened the door back up to peer out at me. When the right one finally worked, I yelled, "That's right!" and held it up toward them. To which they congratulated me by slamming their door shut.

Who Is This?
I called McLovin's office the other morning.
  • McLovin: McLovin McLovin.
  • Me: [breathy sexy voice] Hello, handsome.
  • McLovin: Ummm, hello?
  • Me: Baby, it's me.
  • McLovin: Oh. Hello you.
  • Me: You had no idea, did you?
  • McLovin: Of course I did. I was just making sure you knew.
  • Me: You said your name when you answered. Wait -- who else calls you handsome?!?
  • McLovin: Uhhh, everyone. Duh.

Bad Ideas vs. Good Ideas
I may have mentioned once that my job is odd. Fun, but not your normal job-y job. One day, our boss called and said "So, I've got you on that flight tomorrow to do the aerial survey..."

Which means, essentially, they put you on a military cargo plane, strap you into a harness, and open up the big trap door out the back (which, funny enough, looks like the back flap on a pair of vintage jammies so you can go to the bathroom without stripping down...they didn't find that funny. I laughed enough for everyone. I think maybe they didn't like the word jammies when referencing their plane.) So you can hang over the ledge and peer down at the ground some 2000 feet below you. While flying. Rather than thinking, "hmmm, I'm the mother of three little ones and do I really want to put that much faith in a seatbelt made in China to keep me from plunging out of the back of an airplane going 500 miles an hour and splatting to my death?" I'm pretty sure my response was, "This is gonna be SO COOL!"

Incidentally, we didn't get to go on that flight. Bad weather. My colleague got to go a week later. Lucky bastard.

Becoming Him
On day four, McLovin calls. Seems the children have a dentist appointment the next day. Really? I made that appointment? Huh? And the dog is out of two of the twenty-seven pills he takes, and the air conditioner guy was scheduled to come in two days and wasn't Happy supposed to have Water Day at camp on Friday?

Crap! How did I ever keep mental track of all this? I actually had to utter the words "which pills?" Even though, before I left, I could tell you the inventory count of every damn one of those things. When did I turn into a dude? McLovin needed to know the phone number to call the dentist back and I completely blanked. They have a phone number? That I know? Off the top of my head?

I Need A Wife
Nanny called one day. Now, keep in mind her English is as good as my Spanish. Which is to say, it's decent and, with a lot of gesturing and miming, we get our point across to each other. Over the phone? Not so great. And I turn into that idiot that talks LOUDER when I have to switch languages. Yeah, like that'll make her understand me more. I mostly said "esta bien" a lot on the phone after she finished talking. I'm pretty sure she was saying things were under control, she had gone to the grocery store, she - I think - needed us to put more cash on the counter for incidentals, and, at the end, I'm pretty sure I agreed to have her car detailed and pay for a gym membership. Only because I remember the words "caro" and "pintar" and "nuevo" and "gimnasio" then I said "esta bien" and she paused and said "si? verdad? estas seguro?" and I was like "Oh, si!" and then thanked her for everything and then she said thank you a LOT and hugged me when I got home two days later. I hugged her back because I thought she missed me and was SO HAPPY to have a few days away from the IHPs, but then I think I noticed new rims are her SUV when she left. But you know what, the laundry is done and the fridge is full and she made us homemade pupusas which is like eating heaven so she can have whatever she wants.

Where Am I?
When McLovin used to travel all over the country (now it's all over the Icky-stan-y world, so, that's a promotion, right?) he would get up and need to see the newspaper to know what city he was in. Now I understand that. One night, I got up to go to the bathroom and walked into the closet. Like, opened the door and actually entered the closet. And then was like "Whuck?!? What happened to the toilet?" Because, in the hotel before that, the bathroom was in a different place. Hitting my shin on the luggage rack and getting a faceful of clangy empty hangars is particularly pleasant at 2:45 in the morning.

American Distress:
I've had two rental cars in my name in two different cities, paid for two separate hotel rooms in the same hotel for a week each, and checked into a hotel room for 17 seconds to steal pillows. By the fourth hotel room in two and a half days, American Express had had it. There's nothing like "I'm sorry, your card has a hold on it..." to stop you dead in your tracks. I call them, and James, the lovely AmEx guy, starts our conversation with, "Where in the world are you anyway? Because according to our records, you're currently in four states with three cars and 7 hotel rooms." It was kind of awesome.

I'm a S**t Gift Purchase
Lydia has literally taken care of everything. I'm either in a place which is either so remote that I couldn't get internet access if Al Gore was standing right next to me, or so enmeshed in work that - despite the fact that there's six thousand computers around me, and Al Gore is serving as my own person WiFi conduit, I inevitably call her and say stuff like "Do you mind..." and "I'm so busy..." and she says she'll take care of everything. And then I imagine that she's making obscene gestures at me and hanging up the phone and teaching MiniMiniMe to say "SUCK IT FANCY!"
Which means, like any good a**hole, I come home bearing, not for the children or McLovin...for Lydia. I just bought these for her...

They're like this, but they have pom-poms. Because nothing says Thank You
like pom poms hanging off a piece of "suede" and attached with staples...

American Express called again. They were like, "We've had a strange purchase on your card and wanted to make sure you had authorized it. It's for -- ummm...clogs. Personalized clogs?" God I love American Express. I buy four pairs of Jimmy Choos and they're like "Uh oh, Kate's gone shopping again..." but one pair of clogs and their computer system goes batsh*t.

By the way, I still have those stolen borrowed pillows. I'm going to FedEx them back to the hotel with a note apologizing for my thievery.

If only I could remember which one it was.


It's good to be home.

xoxo Kate

(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2010

Popular Posts