deeples

Easter

Or as my friend Richard calls it, “DROJ Day”. As in, “What are you up to on DROJ Day?”…. and I was all, “WHA?”

He emailed me back, “Oh, sorry! Death and resurrection of Jesus Day” and I was all, “Ohhhh.  Brunch with the fam.”

Except, that of course it’s actually breakfast, church, talking, baskets and then brunch, all of which has ranged from palatable to fun in the past.  I have, however, had something of a falling out with Kory’s family’s church.  I won’t go into the gory details, but it was a disagreement of epic proportions and while we’ve all agreed that we love one another and are forgiving one another and moving on, there is still a noticeable chasm.  A tiny break, but now an area of weakness that will need to be handled gently and with great care so as to not reopen the wound.  It’s for this reason that I considered very seriously going to the Easter service tomorrow morning.

Except….  that the hypocrisy of me attending this service is just a little more than I can handle right now.  I feel like hyperventilating just thinking about going to a service at their church.  I know I will feel awkward and uncomfortable and I’m practically incapable of hiding such feelings from others – which will only serve to upset me and everyone around me. Bottom line is that while I was married in that church, I am not a member.  I don’t mind if Kory wants to go and bring The Baby or if The Teen wants to join them. I don’t mind a bit.  I, however, am going to stay home and drink coffee and read the Sunday paper and breathe deeply.

Personally, I’m ready for the 4th of July.

My Mom

My lovely mother, who raised my sister and I on her own, turned 60 last Saturday.  She’s living in Tucson, AZ with my grandmother and has created a nice life for herself. She’s working on a hundred different projects, has made a bunch of new friends, has been offered a promotion at work, has almost completed the course-work to start a whole new career, has lost something like 60 pounds… I mean, she’s doing GREAT.

And I, being the fabulous human being that I am did not call her on her birthday.  I also forgot to get a card in the mail. ON HER 60TH BIRTHDAY.

I had a small pass in that I was in Lutsen on her actual birthday and there is little to no reception up there. When we got back we found that The Baby’s rash had not only horribly intensified, but was now accompanied by a 3 day long series of high fevers that made her clingy and hot and unable to sleep at night.  Work, also, was a nuclear meltdown. My workload was piling up due to missed days with Sicky McBaby and the trip and several critical partnering relationships had imploded while I was gone… so I came back to a whirlwind of work insanity, sick baby, The Teen started a new trimester and had all new classes, new teachers, a zillion forms to sign…  all of this is my way of saying… by Friday, I STILL HAD NOT CALLED HER.

Now, of course, it was far more than just being distracted and torn in a million directions, now I was actively terrified to call her.  Consumed with guilt and fearing the tongue-lashing of the century from a justifiably shattered mother, I somehow found an amazing array of things to do instead of calling my mother.  This is not unlike my sophomore year in high school when, overwhelmed, I ditched my Chemistry class on a major test day… and then, not having a note and afraid to say so to the teacher, I ditched the next day… which became me sitting in the library at school every single day for an entire semester until the final weighty F arrived on my report card.   When asked why I didn’t just go back, I couldn’t answer.  I don’t know.  I was afraid.  I don’t know.  Facing the music isn’t my strong suit?  Failing sucks?  Disappointing people that I love and/or respect makes me want to vomit on my feet?

So, Friday afternoon I got an email from my mother.  Subject: Are you ok????

Am I ok?

My mind races. I don’t want to open this email. It’s going to be bad.  Am I ok?!

She’s so flummoxed by the horridness of someone who wouldn’t call their mother even days and days after her 60th birthday, she’s now decided something must be wrong with me.  Clearly, I’ve been abducted or become a Communist.. or been abducted by Communists…

I brace myself and open the email and it’s like this [paraphrased]: Hi! Hope you are ok and had a fun trip and blah blah.. I’m fine and work is good and I hope The Baby and The Teen are good and I really would like to hear your voice and I hope you aren’t mad at me for something because I love you, etc………………..

I think I passed out at my desk – I mean, WHO SAW THAT COMING?

Not me, that’s who.

So, seeing this amazing opportunity to swoop in and mend the fence, I promptly find a thousand other things to do. Again. Surely, this is a trap.  Surely, when I actually do call it will end with me a sobbing, snot-faced mess.  And I just can’t tell you how not up to that I am right now.

So, today, she emails me again.  Firmer.

Honey, call me. I need to hear your voice.  We all make mistakes, etc.etc.  Let’s start over. Etc. Etc.  Call me. Call me. Call me.

So, I make a few excuses.  Make myself a couple cocktails and finally… finally…. I call her.

And we laughed and told each other stories and caught up and laughed some more for an hour.

The only reference to the whole drama was simply this:

me:  Mom, I love you and I’m so so sorry

Mom:  I know you are, honey.  I know you are.

I’ve been so busy being everyone else’s mom, I forgotten how much they rule.  Moms, that is.

Mine, specifically.

Funny Door

This door in clearly not in Minnesota or it would have said, “ALRIGHTY” instead of “ALRIGHT”