My Sister Reminds Me of Mother Teresa, Which Makes Me Anna Nicole Smith

Yesterday I returned from my second trip to Kentucky.  Typically, after purposely avoiding the place for 25 years, I visit twice in less than three months.

Really, I should leave home more often.  This time my husband opened the pool, painted the kitchen AND a bathroom.  It looked so different that I said, “Oh my God, I even love the new light fixture!”  As it turns out, it wasn’t new, I just hadn’t noticed it in the three years we’ve lived here.  The previous wallpaper was so ugly I could see nothing else.

He also dealt with the 11-year old (who suddenly acts 17), the one who grew an inch taller than me in only a week’s time after counting the minutes until my departure.  (“Not to hurt your feelings or anything Mom, you understand!”)

It’s so unusual for me to be completely alone that for a good portion of my initial driving time (after dropping my son off at his university dorm) I continued to catch myself believing my daughter was in the backseat.  I would turn to check on her or begin to say something and then remember she wasn’t there.  After the fifth or sixth time I wondered how long it would take to get the hint, so I could stop feeling really stupid.

* * * * *

After 25 hours in the car, I’m not so good with adjusting to the return home.  My body continues to quiver as if I’m still moving at hyper-speed.  Actually, being on the road was fun.  I love driving 80 mph in the Charger, blowing people away with the hemi, pretending I’m part of a video game.

Of course, there’s the other piece where I’m crossing myself and begging God that I don’t die until my daughter grows up.  The various personalities in my head begin arguing, one suggesting she’d be better off without my influence TODAY, IMMEDIATELY!  Now I’m flying down the road with two bitches slugging it out as to whether my influence on her is positive or negative.  Actually, I’m sure it’s both. 

I am certain of NOTHING after spending a long weekend entirely on my own with a 1, 2 and 3-year old.

When the voices become annoying I put on the radio or a CD.  Sometimes I listen to books on tape, but it’s hard finding something to love & most are disappointing.  For this trip two new music CD’s, Duffy (it’s been years since I’ve fallen in love with someone the way I have with this chick, especially the song Mercy) and Elliot Yamin (my boy).

I do not stay in hotels on the road, preferring to sleep in my car (with embarrassingly dirty hair & a look that screams CRACKHEAD with a secondary donut addiction) rather than deal with bed bugs or filthy phones or invisible jism on the walls (cause you KNOW it’s there).

(Side Note: Does anyone reading this communicate with Red (who convinced me that every coffee pot in every hotel in the USA has been shit in at least once)?  Has anyone heard from her or know she’s okay?  I think of her daily, since she deleted her blog, and miss that crazy chick.)

I did get stopped once.  I’d been on the road since 9 a.m. & after 18 hours a young, slow-talking Tennessee Sheriff’s officer wondered why I was weaving in a confused manner.  I’m sure he expected me to slur my words and stumble, but it was just a case of serious darkness in the middle of nowhere and no clear lines on winding asphalt.  I was tickled pink when he asked, “Ma’am, do you carry a concealed weapon?“  Even the idea gave me a thrill!  I laughed out loud & said, “No one would EVER give me such a thing!”  (My dear friend Roxanne claims I should have said, “Only my rapier-like wit!” but I don’t think nearly that fast.) 

Thankfully, I left with no ticket, possibly because he was pleased I was about to leave his state behind, thus becoming Kentucky’s problem.  He happily provided me with directions.

* * * * *

I went back because I was already making a trip south.  When I came up with this brilliant idea the extra eight hours of driving time sounded utterly reasonable, sort of like making pancakes for breakfast.  So I told my sister, “I’ll watch the kids!  You just make a plan to have fun.”  She’s had her grandchildren for three months now.  The entire situation is truly mind boggling once you are there and realize the difficulties involved.  The magnitude of issues & complications does not translate well onto paper.

Well, when I said, “Make a plan” she took me literally.  I thought

perhaps an afternoon of golf,

she thought

53 hours in the Smoky Mountains, 300 miles and six hours away, with two overnights booked in a hotel. 

We never bothered to compare our visualized experiences until I was standing in her living room and her boyfriend was carrying enough clothes to the car for a Mexican honeymoon.

It was about then that the 2-year old little boy plucked a tick off the dog bed and said, “Here, Gramma!”  She told me then that they’d just treated the two huge Boxers for an infestation and went on to say with pride and amazement: “He’s been finding them everywhere!  He’s really got an eye for it!”  (It took me several hours to sit on anything other than a coffee table.  I never did pull the cover down and climb into the bed, choosing instead to stay on top the bedspread fully clothed.)

An hour later they left and I found myself looking at 3 children under 4 years of age, all completely dependent upon me to behave as a mature adult & keep them alive for an entire weekend.

It was quite a learning experience.  If I ever had any fairy tale dreams about (1) how I should have had more children closer in age or (2) how my (fill in the blank) makes me somehow superior to my sister in any way . . .  they’re gone.