Including the old Alma Mater:
Going back shouldn’t have to be painful but dear god, my ankles! And I thought I was fit. I guess I can never be eighteen again. I leave that up to my kids, who know how to be teenagers, snarkiness and all.
At least they had an Olive Garden, where I partook of the chicken salad and watched everyone else eat cheesy, creamy, delicious – dairy-filled stuff.
Afterwards, we moved some of my daughter’s things to the car to bring home in anticipation of her real trip home in three weeks where we will move even more stuff to the car. And I don’t say the word stuff lightly.
I’m still speechless with shock at how much she’s collected in eight months away at school. I have my suspicions about it, like maybe she’s taken one too many trips to the local Salvation Army truck.
If only we were talking a few personal items here and there. But sadly, no. We hauled scads and boxes of makeup, bags full of dinnerware, decorative pillows I’d never seen before and would very much like to burn because the thought of them seeing the inside of my house makes my teeth crawl.
You might be wondering, as I did, just where we’re going to store everything. I pondered the question on my way home as I slept away while husband Mike drove. The only answer came to me in a moment of enlightenment.
Tomorrow, we’re going to pay a visit to Home Depot and get some firewood. Believe me, I’m doing her a favor.
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