Because I didn't check my confirmation email from the airline, Allison, Beau, and I arrived two days too early for our flight to Loreto and now can't get out till Sunday. And then, because I didn't feel like pushing the luggage cart far enough up the curb, it rolled back into my car denting it.
I've been sleeping till 10 or later the past few mornings. My six-year old too, since I don't make her go to bed till I do which is usually after midnight. And I didn't make her brush her teeth last night because her toothbrush was packed in the suitcase still in the car from our missed flight.
I rarely prepare anything for breakfast or dinner. We eat out constantly. I did make steaks, baked potatoes and broccoli tonight to redeem myself. But I also let the oven go an hour before checking to see I'd forgotten to place the potatoes inside.
My daughter and I made brownies at 11:30 pm and scraped the bowl clean of batter with two large wooden spoons.
I made my son take my car for an oil change because I was too lazy.
I answer the telephone only when I feel like it. And I haven't phoned some of my better friends to tell them I am home--or attended the monthly meeting of the Public Art Commission which I co-founded and until I left for Mexico was a major focus in my life.
I told my younger son that his friend's rap cd was awesome and I admired his ambition and dedication to his craft even though I normally express disgust for that vile genre of music.
Because I was too lazy to go pick them up, I told our accountant to hang onto a couple of small rebate checks till I got back again from Mexico. I'll deposit them then. What? Hello? Money calling!
Last Thursday at the office I filed away about a hundred invoices before checking them with our manager. He had to fish them all out the next day while I was certainly snoozing at home.
Tonight I was reflecting on all this inertia and indulgence and hoping it might only be a temporary condition when I got a little unexpected butt-kick. When I finally put my little waif to bed she uttered this unusual statement: "I'm embarrassed, mama."
"What for," I asked?
"I still drink chocolate milk from a sippy cup."
Oh, that little indulgence.
"Nobody cares, Allison. It's not like you're drinking from a baby bottle. You just like it because it's easy to watch tv without spilling."
"Yeah, but when I was drinking it I could read on the lid--it says Gerber. Like Gerber baby."
"Ummm. Maybe time to give it up, huh?"
She giggled, mocking herself, "I'm washing out my sippy cup in the sink and it says Gerber. I pour my chocolate milk and put on the Gerber lid for babies. I'm like a baby drinking out of my sippy cup." She laughed hard, then winced. "And I sleep with my parents."
Yeaaahh. That.
"You are too big for that."
"Don't tell anybody. It's just that it feels so cuddly and I like it."
Exactly. Don't tell anybody!
"Well, you can sleep in your bed tonight."
"Maybe tomorrow," she said. "It's just so cuddly."
The old tug between what feels good and what feels right. Even kids know it. Time for me to tune-in again.
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