The fender bender

My friend SueG hired me to help her organize and clean the front part of her house which included the kitchen, living room, and dining room. This is an ongoing job that occurs whenever she loses her shit starts feeling overwhelmed, has company arriving, or can no longer handle the mess. In her defense, her life wasn't always like this, but various circumstances arose and in working crazy hours and tons of overtime she gave up and let the animals (i.e. her husband and children) take over.

SueG: "There will be no telling people on your blog how bad my house is and there will be no pictures."

Right. This, however, is a lead up to my real entry and I only tell it so that people understand my frame of mind. So, let me just say quickly that she and I spent two days working our butts off putting things back in to order and both days we were covered in filth and dust and sweating like we had been outside in the desert all day. The second day after we finished she insisted on us going out to dinner, but I needed to feed my dog and change my shirt and so we agreed I would go home quickly and they would pick me up in a few minutes.

I left her house and as I was climbing into my car I heard a baby crying. From my expertise in child rearing I knew this baby was a newborn, and knowing there was no baby, new or old, next door to SueG I was concerned. Because I watch a lot of television, mainly dramas about crying babies in areas where they aren't suppose to be, and so I was on the job. Along with wearing scrubs and playing a doctor, I'm a private investigator, something that I've longed to be since childhood and Nancy Drew books going so far as to have a detective agency with my neighbor Robby and later in life tracking down a deadbeat who stiffed my mother for money. A crying baby was nothing compared to the cases I've cracked.

Two people next door were climbing into a vehicle at the same time I was climbing into mine, and since I didn't see a baby I figured the infant was already in the car, hopefully strapped into a legal carrier. My main attention was on these people as we both backed out of the driveways at the same time. Plus, I was exhausted, sweaty and covered in layers of dust and dog hair.

Tom: "That's really no excuse. You have a camera on the vehicle."

Some people truly don't understand the meaning of distraction. As I backed out of the driveway, turning my wheel to head in the direction I wanted to go, the other vehicle kept backing up toward me and my attention was focused on them not hitting me. I had checked both sides as I backed out and knew no one was coming in either direction so instead of checking my camera I was focused on the other car. Until I heard a crunch and felt a bump. The kind of bump as in hitting something.

At first I thought I had hit someone. That's my biggest fear ever since a co-worker of Tom's wife hit a person in the parking lot of Target. But as I looked behind me I saw a white car and realized what had happened. For a split second, and I'm not proud to admit this, I will admit to thinking about running, but having seen lots of the aforementioned television dramas I knew most likely I had been spotted either by the car in front of me or nosy neighbors. I cursed, thought about crying, and pulled back into my friend's driveway.

I got out and went up into her neighbor's yard to the front door. By now, SueG and her kids were outside and SueG was suggesting that the damage was minor and perhaps I should ignore it because she was annoyed that these neighbors kept parking behind her driveway even after she and her husband had politely asked them not to do so. I ignored her and rang the doorbell. From inside came loud barking, the kind of low, vicious barking you hear from scary, rip-out-your-throat pitbulls or dobermans. I was shaking some from my altercation and this barking didn't even phase me, although SueG was making "whoa" sounds.

From inside I heard a woman's voice tell the dogs to hush and I waited patiently for her to open the door. That didn't happen. I waited. Nothing. So I rang the bell again and this time there was no barking, no voices, nothing but silence. I assumed the female voice was off locking up the canines and so I waited. And waited.

SueG: "That's it. Leave. Let's go. No one is home."

Having heard a voice from within, I refused, although I did think about it once again. I rang the bell again and when this produced nothing I raised my hands and knocked on the door with my knuckles which made a very authoritative sound on her wooden door and set the dogs barking once again. A voice from behind the door asked who it was and I replied that I had backed into her car. The door opened a slit and half a face peered out at me from a darkened room with a large screened tv playing behind the face.

Neighbor: "Oh, that's not even my car. Hold on."

I backed up and started back down the lawn and the door opened and out came the neighbor, an attractive woman about my age or younger. She told me the car belonged to her son's friend and then made a lot of noises about how she has told the owner to park in her lawn and not on the street. That right there was comical, and I was surprised I didn't laugh at that from hysteria if not from the oddity of it, but I was playing serious and SueG started in about how she has asked them not to park behind her drive.

The woman was very nice and very unconcerned. She kept telling us it was no big deal and that the car was a clunker and that the owner was at the Ray's game and probably wouldn't even care. Meanwhile, SueG and I were looking at the large dent on the passenger's right front end and thinking that the owner most certainly would not be happy, but then SueG asked about the next door neighbor and suddenly the two of them were off and chatting like neighbors despite never having met one another. I was still shaking some and wishing they could get back on topic when the neighbor again said this was no big deal when I offered up my insurance information.

Me: "Let me give you my information."
Neighbor: "That's okay, don't worry about it. This thing has so many dings and dents on it they probably won't even fix it. It's an old car."
SueG: "Well, if they need the information you know where I live. I'll pass on her number if you want it."

I left. I went home and fed and peed the dog. I changed my shirt. I called the husband who was not sympathetic and reminded me of my mother.

Tom: "Why are you calling me? I can't do anything about it."
Me: "I was just informing you."
Tom: "Seriously? You have a camera on the back of the van. How can you hit someone?"

Uh, this is typical Cara. I'm always backing into things. I've backed into Tom's car. I've backed into someone at the library. My famous two backings into things that resulted in damage was a mailbox and a mail truck, and I'm still hearing a lot of postage jokes from those. The damage to my car on this one was minimal in my expert auto body repair opinion. It popped out the back panel on the rear side of my car and I attempted to pop it back in again to no avail. I needed a tool. I left it for another day.

SueG didn't arrive for quite some time and by then I had no appetite. Turns out she and the neighbor talked and talked and agreed to meet for drinks some night. SueG said she got the idea the car belonged to the son's girlfriend and that she wouldn't care about the car. I couldn't let it go.  I kept whining and moaning until SueG knocked me up side the head.

SueG: "It was a fender bender. No one was hurt. Or killed. You have insurance. Maybe she won't even want to report it or care. In the scheme of things this was nothing."

It took three days for the owner of the car to contact me and two more days before he contacted my insurance company. I, of course, spent those days worried about how I hadn't taken pictures, how I didn't know the make of the car, how Tom didn't want me to contact our insurance, etc. On and on until finally the GUY, not a girl, contacted me and told me how it was no big deal. We exchanged insurance information and the insurance guy was nice and I have an appointment to get my car fixed this week.

I've let it go. I've decided I'm going to look at it as bringing two neighbors together as SueG has told me how she and the neighbor have chatted since exchanging information regarding jobs, their houses, their children. They're going to get together for vodka cocktails some evening.

SueG: "She has two sons. The one lives with her. I think he works for the post office as a mailman or something."

Of course, he does. So far, my family has not stopped laughing.

8 month 2017 resolution check

I didn't check in at six months, something I discovered when I sat down to write the eight month check in. No wonder I can't remember half of this things.

I grade from 1-10. I have yet to reach 100% in keeping my resolutions. Already in just reading the first one I know that isn't happening this check in either.

1. To cut down on my use of the word “fuck” - Why is this a resolution in my world? My best peep uses this word like I use food and since I tend to feed off of those I'm around, I'm a goner. I've been trying not to use the word around others, but while SnapChatting yesterday with my SIL I used it at least five times and only realized when my brother, in the background, said, "Hey, watch your mouth!" like he was my parent. I don't even think I can give myself a score this check in. Grade:  0
2. To be better in touch with family, especially those who live locally. - This one has been one that I've worked hard on and remembered and consider a success. Social media makes that easier as does visits to Florida from family. I've kept in touch with both sides of the family or they have with us and bam. Resolution in the bag. Grade: 10
3. To lose weight…any amount. - Ugh. What? This too was a resolution along with number one? I forgot about it too. I did start back up to the gym yesterday, but I suppose that doesn't even warrant a point. This new writing career doesn't help in this either as I'm sitting all the time. Still, I have four more months to get this one in the bag. Grade: 0
4. To Rent/Sell The Condo and the Wyndham: I feel that I've at least worked toward this goal and in my grading of my resolutions that counts. I met with my BIL who rents property and we discussed options. I spoke with a realtor and we discussed options. I've spoken with someone who knows people that want to purchase in our association. I met with the Wyndham peeps in NYC. The only thing holding me back from completion on this resolution is MY BROTHER who is too "busy with work" to follow through on his responsibilities. Either that or he makes WAY more money than I do to be shelling out toward property that just sits there. Grade: 8
5. To write a romance novel. - I now belong to the local chapter of romance writers and have spent two months with them. I attended the national conference and learned tons. I'm rolling on this one and maybe, just maybe, might get the damn thing finished if I get into some sort of daily writing routine along with exercising. Grade: 10
6. To find my next chapter, by trying new things, and by learning to deal with whatever is going on in my head. - Hmmm...in reading this one (and wondering what exactly I meant by it) I'm going to give myself a lot of points just for attending the national romance writer's convention because that was HUGE for me. A week alone in a hotel attending classes with strangers? I haven't done something like that since college? Since I moved to Florida? Trust me, far back. I've signed up for drum lessons. I moved my kid back to NC. Tom and I handled the week without kids like pros and we haven't killed each other yet. I've been outside my head except this past week when I hit another car, but I'm handling that one better now too. Score! Grade: 10

Total: 38 out of 60 - It's more than half so I'll take it. Going to hit these last four months hard. If I can just remember all of these goals. I might have to write them down and put them on my mirror like my mother did with positive sayings. Jeez, that's next year's resolution...not to become my parents.

HandyWomen for Hire

A week ago I wrote about learning how to fix and build items from my father and this week I put that knowledge to use. My friend SueG bought a TV stand that required building, and of course she called me in to, as my brother says, "get 'er done".

Me: "I wonder if SueG will have the tools we need or whether I should bring my..."

Tom: "handyman?"

Me: "own tools."

Tom: "What you need is a handyman."

Me: "I'm ignoring that statement because I know you think you're funny."

Tom: "I think I know what you're going to need and that is a handyman."

The first thing I corrected her on when I caught her upending the box to shake out the contents on to the floor was actually something I learned from my "handyman" husband; open the box and use it to build on to protect the flooring.

SueG: "Okay, okay. Whatever."

I took the 100 page book instruction booklet, got a pen, and suggested we run through the list of contents to make sure we had every item. We got through items "A", "B", and "C".

SueG: "That's good enough. Everything is here. Let's just get going."

Me: "I've made that mistake before and then gotten to the end only to discover a missing piece."

SueG: "That's not going to happen here. They wouldn't sell something that doesn't have everything here. Let's get going."

The hardware came in a large plastic bag with individual sealed compartments with slightly askew labels. There was a lot of hardware. SueG, who had assured me she had tools after we purchased the stand, wandered off to get the two tools it said we needed; a hammer and a phillips screwdriver.

SueG: "Which one is that? The one with four or the one with two?"

Me: "Seriously? What the hell?"

SueG: "Well, I don't know. Is that the one with all the little grooves?"

Me: "Sigh. Yes, we will go with that. That's a phillips head screwdriver."

I read aloud each step in the directions. We each worked. I was on my hands and knees while SueG insisted it was easier for her to stand and lean over to screw. I let that one go, but by the end with sweat dripping off our noses and brows, we wondered aloud if either of us would be able to move the next day.

We did a lot of turning. More than once SueG mentioned how her fifteen year old son would be home soon from high school and he would help us. I kept reminding her of Tom's "handyman" remark and how I had something to prove.

Son: "I have homework."

SueG: "Oh, please. It's Friday. You can do that any other time this weekend."

He helped by getting us his tool box and supplying us with two better screwdrivers than the one we had been using which may or may not have been ruined with all of our muscle. He jumped up from his homework a couple of times when we requested lifting and once to climb inside the cabinet to get to two screws hidden inside.

Around Step #7 I was thinking it was time for a water break and rest and apparently Sauder agreed because this was in the instructions:

As we completed each task within the steps, I check marked them. When the step was completed I made a giant check mark and moved on to the next step. As we neared the end, the instructions called for us to insert the plastic foot (marked 2OE in the plastic) into the middle hole of the bottom piece.

Me: "Uh, there isn't a middle hole here."

Sue: "God Damn It! What is that thing anyhow?"

Me: "I think it's a stabilizer, like a foot. The problem is there are suppose to be three holes and we only have two. I'm thinking the bottom piece was suppose to be flipped."

SueG: "It's defective. Who cares. Move on."

The next task within that step also called for us to put felt discs on the bottom of the legs to protect the flooring. SueG vetoed that too because one, the stand was sitting on carpeting and two, she didn't feel the discs would stay on long. I refused to make check marks on the tasks..

We moved on to the drawer construction. That moved quickly with me reading, her constructing, her screwing, and me putting on the handles. We finished, flipped the stand on to its legs and inserted the drawers ready to throw our arms into the air and declare it a success.

SueG: "God Damn It! That bottom piece is on wrong. See! See how we can see the unfinished side when the drawers are in? God Damn It!"

Me: "Calm down. We're just going to have to take off the bottom and flip it. It doesn't involve that much unscrewing."

Son: "Why does it look like that?"

SueG/Me: "Shut up."

We unscrewed, un-nailed, and flipped the board. Low and behold...a third hole.

We threw our arms into the air and deemed it a success. Once we got the television moved from the old stand to the new stand we high-fived and made a lot of reference to several comments on how we didn't need a &(^% handyman. The whole construction project took three hours.

We're making business cards that say, "HandyWomen for Hire".

Week one of the empty nest - check

I no longer know the dates since the girls left. I had to write a check yesterday to the A/C maintenance guy and other than vaguely knowing it was still August and that we were in double digits I had no idea. Prior to that I had to sign my name on a contract and date it and I copied the date written by Tom. I now know it was incorrect. It's the little things that reach out and grab me unsuspecting.

This week has been full. My friend SueG has taken advantage of my lay off (that's now how I'm referring to it instead of a retirement because the girls are still in my care and will return for holidays and summer) and has put me to work. Another friend took his kid to college and left me in charge of his dog for two days. Last night I had my tutor student here prepping for an exam. In between all of that the girls have called or texted me daily needing advice or just to check in. Keeping busy is certainly the key to ignoring my empty nest.

I dreaded not being kept abreast of the latest trends now that the girls are gone. Who would teach me how to dab? Would I still be stuck shipping people when I should be doing something new? Thank goodness in this adjustment period the girls are still educating me. Madison introduced the newest Alexa update which allows us to send voice messages to one another or to call using our device. While I enjoy the message feature, I find the calling to be too tinny because I refuse to believe my exceptional hearing, once written about in a medical journal, is dulling. I suppose my Echo Dot is compiling all sorts of information about me and my life, but I love that thing and wish I had one in every room of my house.

Darcy introduced us to the app House Party which allows us to group Facetime. That came about when Madison and I were chatting via Facetime and Darcy tried calling first me and then Madison for "advice". We three way called her and when I complained about not seeing their faces Darcy hooked us up. People! If you have peeps scattered around the country, you have got to get this app. Last night we had a group including Madison in NC, my SIL in IN, me in my bedroom, and Tom in our living room. Okay, while that might not sound as exciting as it should have been trust me it can be, although my brother refused to join in. I'm alerted every time someone in my group enters the "house" and yesterday for fun I popped in to a chat with Madison and Darcy's friend Feifei who is in college in New York. They, of course, were horrified, but after making Feifei show me her dorm room and getting a run down on her college life I did exit and leave them be. But oh what joy to be a part of things!

This morning my Echo Dot has given me the date and I've made sure to register it in the brain. I'm not sure why the date and time in the corner of my computer isn't getting the job done, but whatever. I have a job with SueG again today which is going to involve tools, and later I'm helping my SIL update the Echo Dot I purchased for my brother so that I can message him unsuspecting at night while he watches television.

I'm rocking the first week of my empty nest. Well, except for the little fender bender that happened earlier in the week, but that's another entry for another time. Week one, check.

Daughter #1 First Day

We heard from the first daughter late at night. Her RA job keeps her very busy so she calls at night when her father and I are not as attentive and should have been in bed hours prior. She started school the day after Darcy and had a good first day. Seeing their bright, happy faces makes me feel better about them being gone.

This one has been a big help to the second kid who has contacted her each day thus far to ask a million questions on books, purchases of school related items, and dropping classes. I haven't heard about the latter so hmmmm...but I'm letting the eldest take charge with her vast college knowledge. I just learned that college kids today have to purchase their own test booklets. Back in my day the "blue books" were free, handed out when it was time to be tested by the professor. I didn't even know they were still around, but apparently they are. At UNC they are still "blue books" and cost pennies or a penny I've forgotten. At USF they are "green books" and cost $.83. Learning this information this week, I'm deferring to the first born to help her sister. I'll be here for emotional support and to kiss any boo boos, mentally or physically.

Madison as usual is taking science and math classes that are as high above my head as the clouds in the sky. I sort of nod off when she talks about them unless gossip about students or the professor is involved. Her other classes are usually off the wall, but interesting none the less and I can relate more to those being off the wall myself. I think this semester she is taking Greek Agriculture or Anthropology or some other "A" and only one kid in the class is majoring in that subject. College is SO different from my day.

I'm glad they have started off the year full of excitement and are negotiating their lives. Now if only I could do the same...

Daughter #2 First Day

Thanks to technology my pictures of the first day of school continue. I've made Madison send me a selfie every year since she started college and I expected the same from Darcy. She didn't disappoint. School started yesterday for her and not only did she send me an off to class photo (thanks to her roommate!) but she Snapped her experience in wandering the campus to look for her classes. She is going to be more in touch than the first kid, thankfully.

So far she has made several theater friends, attended a college soccer game, done more shopping, met with her friend who is also going to school there, and said good-bye to her childhood friend who is off for college tomorrow.

She complained via text about classes, books, and teachers like normal. The brand new dining hall that is right outside her brand new dorm caught on fire and has been closed. The next nearest hall is a mile and a half away and so she has gotten some good exercise since the brand new gym outside her dorm is still under construction. Ah, beginnings and new buildings. So far, so good.

#TomPlease

A few years ago my nephew tweeted something funny that his father had said and he used the hashtag #DavePlease which had me in hysterics. I loved it and I've borrowed it frequently, changing the Dave to Tom as it relates.

Me: "Oh, jeez, look at that. We can't turn left which is what we need to do."

Tom: "Why can't we turn left?"

Me: "Uh, because it says so right there on that sign."

Tom: "Please. That isn't a very well marked sign. I'm turning left."

Me: "Okay, but before you do that I need to get a picture of the "not very well marked sign" to send to the girls and to put on twitter with my hashtag #tomplease."

Move in day for daughter #2

She was anxious. It started two weeks prior to her leaving. Nerves kicked in and all of the "what ifs" ran rampant in her brain. "What if" I don't make friends? "What if" no one likes me? "What if" my major isn't what I want after all? I listened. Made soothing mother noises and said cliche things like "of course you will make friends" and "you can always change your mind about your major" which she had responses to that just kept the circle going round and round.

The night before she left she announced the plan. We were to leave by 7:00 a.m., get gas and Starbucks, and head to the campus so she could see her dorm and establish her side of the room. As usual, we didn't leave on time, running around throwing in last minute things, deciding on who was riding with whom. Somehow we were gassed and Starbucked and heading out of the county by 7:30ish. Not bad all things considered.

Darcy rode with me in the van while Tom drove her car. Since it was a Thursday the work traffic had us backed up on the bridge, but it wasn't too difficult and we were at school in a little over an hour. Early by the move-in schedule, but we weren't the only rebels. The instructions, sent via mail in a well thought out booklet that most likely cost a third of her tuition, told us to meet at the student center. The school had no issue with spending dollars on this booklet instead of emailing the instructions, but they spent zero dollars on welcome signs or signs with arrows leading new students to this place of destination.

Colleges, please. Decorate and embrace your new freshman class. At least for the sake of the parents who fork over a lot of dough. I want to see the damn band playing a welcome tune. I want to see signs that tell me this will be a great year for my kid. I want happiness and excitement.

First mark against the school in my undercover raid of move-in day for colleges to apply to the business I want to start where organizations hire me to tell them how to make things better. Hey, USF this one is for free.

At the student center there were balloon bouquets and a guy who passed out beads with the USF logo. Better. Darcy had to sign in to receive her keys and further instructions and parents were routed to a lounge area with chairs and Starbucks coffee and tea. Points were added for this set-up and for the flavored creamer. More points were added for the table set-up for parent involvement that came with a pack of free tissues. I was feeling better.

But then the kid appeared before I could take my first sip of coffee, or put a lid on it, and we were off and heading back to the car so that she could get to her dorm. The instructions were to park at the only banking area allowed on campus which did not follow the information in the booklet that told us how Bull Backers were going to be waiting for us when we pulled up to the dorm to unload us. Those points that were added were quickly deducted.

We parked both cars in the business lot. Half of the lot was for resident parking so Tom got to park in a nice shaded area while I followed the rest of the parents to the other half. We got out and followed the directions to walk across the street to the quad of dorms. As we crossed the street and made our way down the hill, we noticed a line of cars turning into the quad where Bull Backers were there unloading cars and putting stuff into giant cardboard boxes sitting on wheels. I suggested we do the same, but was shot down by the kid who just wanted to get to her dorm. We caved to her.

Her dorm is brand new. It was just opened the day before and naturally the area around it, including the dorm's brand new gym, was still under construction. Of course, it was. No surprise to the parents, but seriously, I have two daughters at two different universities and BOTH dorms are still under construction on move-in day? I added this to my list.

We strode right into the building and went right into the elevator. It stopped and we exited into a beautiful student area complete with couches, a study area, a half kitchen with a refrigerator, a microwave, a sink, and a bar set-up. Very posh and clean. A resident assistant was there to greet us and offer her assistance.

Her room wasn't far down the hall and while small, it was clean, bright, cheerful, and BRAND NEW. We all oohed and aahed over that, or maybe that was just me having been on the opposite of that with the last move-in, and Darcy took the bed that she had chosen when she assigned herself her room. Because that was the way it was done at this school. You went into the app and picked a bed and a room. Whoever picked the other bed was your roommate. Hope you match. Ugh. Darcy started out with one roommate that was the opposite of her in certain views, but that girl ended up going to another school and she was assigned another roommate who is also somewhat local. They met before move-in day and were thankfully more alike.

We headed back out to go unload and discovered that the door wouldn't lock. Nor did most of the doors on the floor which the husband checked. He offered to fix the issue, but the RA quickly put in a work order and it was fixed within a few hours. The points canceled themselves out on that issue. This college does not allow students to loft the beds on their own so Darcy put in an order for that and we headed off to move the van first.

No go. The police had arrived by this time and had cut off the pulling up to the curb in front of the buildings to unload area. Instead we were directed to another lot that seemed VERY far, but actually ended up to be on the other side of the banking lot we had been in. A campus officer directed us to park and then told us to join the line of people standing in the full sun. We followed these directions, but none of it made sense to me. What?

Supposedly we were in line to wait for the Bull Backers to arrive with their magic wheeled carts to take us to the dorms. Seeing as how I had just been to that location and seen that parents were snatching up these magic carts and helpers, I did not see anyone appearing to dwindle down this line anytime soon. Tom and Darcy left me in the line to go back to the other car to unload from that parking lot as it was closer. I stood in the line in the direct sun in my black Steelers shirt and tweeted my disgust with this whole situation. The madder I got, the more the sweat dripped. In the 45 minutes I spent in the line no one came to move anyone in. Darcy texted to tell me they were unloaded and in the magic cart and in line for the elevator. I got out of the line and headed back to them where I spent considerable time expressing my displeasure to all of the people in line for the elevators.

At some point, Tom saw another empty magic cart and he snagged it. He hauled it over to where my van was parked and he and the Bull Backer unloaded the van and he arrived back to us as we were getting into the elevator with our first load. He said the line was still standing there and when we had our magic carts unloaded he was kind enough to take one of them back to one lucky guy who snagged it.

Darcy is the opposite of Madison when it comes to arranging. She and I are on the same wavelength and we are quick. We see what will work and we do it. She didn't want to sleep directly across from her roommate and so we moved her bed. She put her desk at the end of her bed and her dresser in her "closet" which was really a hole in the wall with shelves. We had it all set up by the time Tom arrived with the second load and we were off and running like a well oiled machine. I emptied the suitcases and started hanging clothes. She made piles of things and then we made the bed. Her roommate and parents arrived and we all shook hands and chatted some before her parents left to pick up some items. Tom wandered off and would come back periodically to offer assistance. He kept offering to loft the bed, but the roommate was concerned this wasn't allowed and kept telling us our maintenance man assigned to us was Hector and we had to let him do it.

Eventually Tom came back from one of his wanders to tell us he had met Hector. Hector was currently involved in a repair job of a burst pipe that was running through the ceiling and drenching some poor person's dorm room. Ah, new construction. Tom and I lofted Darcy's bed as I was the expert having done Madison's. Darcy's was a lot more simple although it doesn't go as high as Madison's. Eventually we also lofted the roommate's bed. We had Darcy's side of the room put together by one o'clock. The roommate's side not so much. She had a crap ton of furniture and stuff.

At noon I called my friend Jim to have him let the dog out. I gave him our code to the garage and when he called back to tell me the job was complete an hour later, he told us we had left that morning with the door wide open. He drove up to find Elliot sitting at the front door watching him through the storm door. I guess we weren't as put together as we thought.

We left the dorm, had lunch, and then we shopped much to Tom's disappointment. We hit Target and then Walmart and then unloaded again and made it just in time before the rain came. We finished up the room with our purchases while her roommate and her friends built her furniture. We laughed and chatted and facetimed Madison to show her the room.

Then we left again and had dinner. By the time we said our good-byes it was 10:30 p.m. We were all tired and sweaty and dirty, but we were feeling pretty proud of ourselves. Darcy texted us by the time we arrived home to tell us she was showered and sitting on her lofted bed chatting with the roommate.

The dog was very happy to see us despite his three visits during the day of various friends who cared for him. He knew the suitcases we carried out meant a trip and he was thrilled it was a brief one. We reminded him that he is the lone kid left at home and we played with them and loved him and then we showered and fell into bed. Empty Nesting here we come!

From the archives 2001

My first order of business as an empty nester is to organize and clean. When Madison left for college that first year I did my whirling dervish routine in her bedroom. I took everything out of the closet and organized it and put it back. I moved the furniture and dusted and vacuumed and organized the crap I found underneath. It was pristine when I was done and Tom and I took to sitting in her recliner and reading in that room. It probably had more to do with missing her than cleanliness, but I think the latter played a tiny role.

Me: "What are you doing? Shouldn't you be packing your stuff instead of cleaning your drawers?"
Darcy: "I'm trying to see what stuff I don't want you to find when you do your cleaning routine after I'm gone."

I started first in the Steelers room which started out as a porch, was remodeled into a playroom, eventually turned into an office, and is now a room dedicated to the men wearing black and gold. It is an office/game/tv room now and it is full of shit. There is no easier way of stating that. So I started today on cleaning and organizing that room first. Finding Madison's bin of school stuff that I had meticulously cataloged, I went through it to add the stuff to a "through the school years" book I had purchased a few years back.

One of the items in the pre-school file was an email I sent out to family and friends in December 2001 telling the following story. In reading the names of the recipients I realized they are all people that read my blog! Ha. This was pre-blog days and you peeps are still with me. Thanks for that!

December 16, 2001

Madison brought me a toy, a seashell that when opened lights up to reveal a baby mermaid and is supposedly allowed in the bathtub, and asked if I would put in new batteries as the toy was not lighting up. I agreed to do this and proceeded out to the garage where I spent considerable time unscrewing the six tiny screws holding the cover in place. It took three  AAA batteries and much to my surprise those were in abundance in the battery cabinet.

I changed out the old with the new and before putting on the cover (this lesson I learned from my father and his buddy Karl) I tested the shell. Nothing. No go. No light. I took out the batteries and saw some corrosion on of the "thingies that the battery sits up against". I told Madison who was shadowing and watching my every move, "It's broken. You'll have to wait until your father gets home and he will fix it."

WHAT? Suddenly I heard my father telling me to fix the damn shell myself. Having watched him enough in the past to at least attempt to fix the shell, I gathered my lost wits and some tools and went to work. I used alcohol and a Q-tip and rubbed it on the corrosion. Still having trouble removing the gunk, I had to remove three more tiny screws to get further into the inner workings of the shell. I used a knife and more alcohol and scraped and scraped until the "little thingie" was clean.

Madison, still attached at my hip, asked a million questions. What are you doing? Why are you using that? What does that do? I explained everything patiently while I worked, channeling my father. I had to explain what corroded meant which led to three more questions, but finally it was time to put in the batteries and try again. When it worked, lighting up brightly, I took the moment to deliver a well meaning lesson to my five year old.

Me: "Madison, in life you will find that there will be people who will tell you that working on this type of thing, fixing things, is not something women or girls can do. They will tell you that men are the only ones who can fix things. I mean, I myself told you to wait until your father got home. That was wrong. Women and girls can fix things. Your Grandpa Russ taught me how to fix items when I was your age and older. In fact, he taught me how to do a lot of things, how to build things, and I should have tried to fix this shell before saying we should wait for your father. As you can see I could fix this shell. I did fix this shell."

By now I was beaming with pride, holding the shell high in the air, remembering learning the alcohol technique from my father.

Me: "So don't let people tell you that you can't fix things. Or do things. Girls can do anything, and if you do what I did and follow your father around while he fixes things then you too can learn how to repair items."

I gave her the shell and smiled widely, settling back in my chair at a job well done and a lesson well taught. Madison was quiet for awhile taking in everything and then she looked at me.

Madison: "Or Mom, I can just follow you around and learn how to fix things from you!"

And she took the shell and left the room, leaving me sitting there in stunned silence before I burst out laughing. Thank god my daughter learned that lesson far better than I did.

Things that boil the blood

I have a friend that does not read the paper. She doesn't watch the news or surf the Internet. I'm assuming she relies on others for major happenings in the world, but she refuses to seek it out because it is all too depressing and life is short. I never got that. I love reading the newspaper in the morning. I check the news on Twitter and the Internet frequently during the day. But this summer I became overwhelmed with my own emotions and discovered that she was right. There is more helplessness and despair written about then there is happiness and I couldn't take it. I gave up on the newspaper this summer and it was a refreshing change.

This week, however, I returned to it after my husband renewed our yearly subscription. I have a system in reading the paper. I go in the order of our paper with A, B, and C. I read the front section where the world news tells me how fucked up this country is and then I move to the B section where I learn all of the local happenings. The inside of B is the entertainment section and I read that before moving on to my happy place in C; the sports section. The last section has the puzzles to keep my mind sharp, and I save those for when I'm preparing dinner while I'm waiting for pots to boil and dishes to bake.

Tuesday's news had my blood boiling, and when my blood boils I soothe it by writing my frustrations on my blog to share with my twenty-five millions of readers. Because nothing makes me happier than boiling someone else's blood when reading my opinions. So here goes:

Taylor Swift - she countersued a radio host's litigation of a 2015 suit accusing Swift of falsely having him fired after her manager and mother reported to the station that the host had inappropriately groped her. The suits went to trial last Friday and continued on Monday. First, Swift's name was dropped by a judge in the radio host's suit for insufficient evidence suggesting she had made the whole thing up. He eventually lost the suit altogether after the jury came back on the other side. That left Swift's case for assault and battery. She won.

My problem came when I read the following by the New York Times, "Jurors awarded Swift the $1 in compensation she had demanded." I had a problem with the word demanded. Yes, I know the word is used in terms of law, but demand is defined as "to ask for peremptorily or urgently" as in with a force like pounding on a table top, and really, this was the word to use for a $1? There wasn't another word to be used like asked, requested, or appealed? Why is it that the woman whose skirt was lifted by the radio host and whose rear was grabbed the by radio host is the demanding one? For a dollar in compensation?

On the other end of it, the radio host's lawyer "urged the jury to focus on his client's desire to clear his name and to recoup about $260,000 in lost wages." Why wasn't he demanding the $260,000? Why was she demanding, but he was urging, desiring, recouping, and clearing his name? This is just the little things that happen to show me that we haven't moved forward like we should've when it comes to equal rights for women. Instead the woman is demanding. For a dollar. It's small, sure, but it's these small things that boil my blood. Yay, Taylor Swift for pushing forward on this, paying out of her own pocket and asking nothing but a $1 from the radio host to show women that reporting an assault can be done without fear of facing a lawsuit from the attacker. At least we got that.

NFL and the kneeling during the anthem - First, there was all of the speculation of why first time kneeler Colin Kaepernick is without a football team since declaring himself a free agent. For weeks I read article after article with various opinions about why he isn't collecting an NFL paycheck, and the one I agreed with the most was a writer who wondered why Kaepernick's fellow colleagues were quiet on this subject. Where were the ones who took a knee in protest with him? Hmmmm...I wondered. Good point.

Now that the preseason games have begun, we have more kneeling. Marshawn Lynch, out of his one year retirement where he didn't have the opportunity to join the bandwagon, made the news first by sitting on a cooler during the anthem. Since it does no good for reporters to question Lynch we don't know if he was just tired from getting back into shape after a year off or making a point, but boy, once two or three other players refused to stand during the anthem reporters were all over them.

Here's my blood boiling deal. Stop it. I don't care if you are standing or sitting or kneeling or picking your nose during the national anthem. The point was made last year and now it's seriously time to move on because it isn't solving the real problem. If you want to fight back against an injustice in America, there are a hell of a lot of better ways to fight. Put your money into an organization that fights for your rights. March and carry a protest sign that lets the world see what you feel. Sitting down on the sidelines during the national anthem, isn't getting the point across to those idiots who aren't going to be swayed from their ignorant stand. It also doesn't tell me a damn thing. For all I know, unless you are interviewed and tell me the reason for your sitting, I might think you are sitting because you prefer the confederate flag and all it stood for back in the day. Because there are idiots out there that do believe that. It's time to move forward on this sitting issue and get to the heart of the matter another way. Speak out, and do so loudly with bold actions. Ugh.

Tim Tebow - OMG! He is here locally playing baseball and every day there are two or more articles about this guy including today's article rehashing his University of Florida glory days. I've never been more tired of everyone picking on this guy. Why? Because he is nice? Spouts his thoughts on religion? More writers want to see him not succeed in sports than those who want to see him flourish. Because apparently that makes a better story? Frankly, it doesn't. I'm bored with it all. He was a god here in Florida during college. So he couldn't make it in the pros? Not everyone does. His choice to try baseball is not newsworthy this far past his arrival into the sport. Jeez, the minor league has never had this much journalist interest. I'd rather hear about NFL players who have retired. What's Troy Polamalu up to these days? Move on guys, please.

Darcy: "I don't think I would have thought anything about the word demand in that sentence, and since when did Tim Tebow start playing baseball?"

Sometimes those remarks boil my blood too, but that's another entry.

Just another step

As if this whole college empty nest shit isn't enough on my plate, my youngest upped the ante by throwing in a two hour drive with a car full of kids to hang out at a state park and tube down the river into the pot. I said no the first time she asked me weeks in advance. The kid is good. She knows how to work me. She put the idea into my head, let it simmer, returned to it time and again and threw in reminders of how she would be decision making all on her own at college. Then she let it simmer some more until I said I'd discuss it with her father which we both knew meant she was more than halfway to that tube on the river.

The husband is more lenient now that the kids are adults as if that number 18 is a magical cure all. Where he once refused to allow our first born to ride in a car with anyone other than her parents, now he is all Mr. Uber this and Mr. Sure-Drive-Miles-And-Tube-Down-A-Florida-Sure-To-Have-Alligators-In-It-River that. I think now I use the "I'll discuss it with your father" slogan just to have him talk me off the ledge. Granted, sometimes I hold my own and turn him my way, but deep down I know I have to release the grip on their arms and let them go.

Him: "You can't keep her inside forever and not let her get out and explore things."
Her: "I'm going to be at college next week and you won't even know what I'm doing or where I'm going."

This morning as I lay in bed and listened to her drive away I apologized to my mother as I often do because hey, I get it now. All those nights she sat up worrying. All those times she asked us to call when we arrived at destinations. Parenting, and the worrying angle of parenting, doesn't stop just because the Morris Bird III internal clock moves to that magical #18 and ADULT flashes on and off like a neon sign. I tried to think of a time she would have let me drive off like that, and immediately a summer trip I took with friends to Wyandotte Cave popped into my head.

I don't remember how old I was, but I was the driver so I was at least sixteen. I only remember two of the friends, Robin and Michelle, but I think there was a third person with us, and we spent the whole day on this trip driving, lunching, and caving. Of course, the most memorable part of the trip was that I left my purse behind at the restaurant in a gazebo overlooking Blue River where we had stopped to take pictures. We returned immediately, but it was gone. BAM. One of those first learning moments that punches you in the gut and sucks the happiness right out of you.

Focus on the whole trip, I told myself when that nugget crept into my mind. Focus on the fact that your mother, most likely wringing her hands as you drove away, let you drive away. And when you got to a payphone (those are phones that were on street corners, in shops, etc. where you put money into it and made phone calls) and called her sobbing about your stolen purse, she urged you to wipe your tears and continue on with your plan to explore the cave, despite her worry and her anger at your stupidity. She pushed you to keep on truckin', teaching you that when life throws you a curve ball you get up, dust yourself off, and keep moving.

So I kept myself busy the entire day reacting joyfully with heart emojis when the texts arrived keeping me abreast of her whereabouts. She came home messy, damp, and with a huge smile on her face after an awesome day tubing down the river. That wasn't the first thing out of her mouth, mind you. No, the first thing she told me upon entering the front door was how she "wrecked her shoulder worse than it has ever been before", but channeling my mother I made concerned faces and listened to the story and didn't react crazily. It all worked out in the end and I'm learning to keep putting one foot in front of the other in this next step of life.

Yep, I did say this...aloud

I am not a horse person. I think my dislike of horses started in the fields of my aunt's farm in Indiana when I was forced to get on the back of a horse. I didn't want to. My parents made me. I was terrified. Nothing has changed since then.

I ride horses. I have been coerced into climbing onto the back of these large animals and riding on trails a few times in my life. The last one was written about Here and it was when I decided I was done riding horses to make other people happy. A month after that experience my dislike of horses went up a million notches after this episode Here, which I can tell you still haunts me at times during the day when I least expect it.

The only thing I like about horses is the movie Spirit. That movie makes me happy, but that's truly it. Horses are not my thing.

Yesterday, I was in a Wells Fargo bank looking into account information, and during our listening to the many choices I had in opening accounts, the employee told me that I could design my own debit or credit card if I wanted. She also showed me the different types of printed checks I could get.

Her: "We have this print here. Or if you want plain, we have several colors. Or we have these horses here."

Me: "Yeah. I don't like horses. I hate horses. Don't you have dogs or some other animal?"

Darcy: "Uh, Mom, horses are the symbol for Wells Fargo."

Her: "It is sort of our icon."

Oops. Every teller and loan officer in the bank was staring at me. Apparently, I spoke that truth with some venom. Loudly.

I told her I'd go with a print.

Internet funny

My SIL, who understands my connection to my birthplace better than anyone, sent me a post on the Undying Habits that Prove You Can Never Take Indiana Out of Hoosiers. How right they are on a lot of it.

1. Believing that all corn should be fresh - I'm not sure other than once in a blue moon have my children ever eaten canned or frozen corn in my house. They've barely eaten Florida fresh corn, and if asked they will tell you it sucks compared to Indiana sweet corn. My mouth waters just thinking about Indiana corn picked from Maize Farm in the summer time. One of the many things I miss about my father is that he always packed light when visiting me so he could fill his trunk with Indiana melons and sweet corn.
2. Calling all carbonated beverages "coke" or "pop". Soda? What's that? - Everything carbonated is "coke" to me. When I first moved to Florida, restaurant servers ask if Pepsi was okay after I said I'd have a coke, and I'd say, "Huh?" Today I ask my kids, "What kind of coke do you want me to buy for the party?"
3. Believing everything is better deep fried - My husband had to correct me on this one when we started dating. He was horrified at how much flavor I was missing (not to mention how unhealthy) especially in seafood, but that doesn't mean I've completely let it go. I still like me some fried shrimp or fried fish and french fries!
4. Pulling out lawn chairs whenever there is a tornado warning - We know when to go inside, but watching the changing of the sky and the wind is fascinating. My mom was always urging us into the basement, but my dad would let us stand on the porch and explain the various changes in atmospheric pressure. Here I'm always scoffing when someone says a tornado is coming because I truly believe I know what the warning signs are.
5. Always greeting strangers - YES! I think of this one often. My dad never met a stranger and my brother and I grew up with that. Walking down the street and passing someone? We acknowledge his presence with a hello or a how's it going. New York was difficult to hold that in.
6. Avoiding alcohol on Sundays - Florida use to sell it after one o'clock and I would be all, "What? You can buy liquor on Sunday?"
7. Living for basketball season - This was also hard when I moved here because in Indiana basketball is life. We have spring, summer, basketball season, and cold.
8. Wearing shorts in cold weather - I don't do this one so much any more, but when I first moved here people knew I was from up north.
9. Getting rid of unwanted items in a bonfire - This one makes me cry I laugh so hard because OMG this is true. I can't do that here in our drought state, but on the farms everything gets chucked into the fire. 
10. Feeling a great burst of pride when asked where you are from - Despite the politics, I am damn proud I'm a Hoosier, and even though I've now lived in Florida longer than I have in Indiana I'm born and bred there, baby.

Hugs only please

Everyone keeps telling me that my youngest is going to be easily accessible as if I don't know how close her college is to home. I'm reminded of how quick I can get to her in an emergency. How her proximity to me isn't anything to warrant the emotions I feel about her not being in my home twenty four/seven. I call bullshit.

A friend recently posted on social media an article written by a mom sending her last child off to college, and I just want to print it and hand it to every well meaning adult who spouts out what he hopes is well meaning advice. Not that I'm not known for doing the same thing. We all want to help friends, but I'm slowly learning that sometimes saying nothing and giving a hug instead goes much further.

"I was the sun and they were the planets. And there was life on those planets, whirling, non stop plans and parties and friends coming and going, and ideas and dreams and the phone ringing and doors slamming," writes Beverly Beckham. "...they came back for intervals, not for always, not planets anymore making their predictable orbits, but unpredictable like shooting stars. Always is what you miss. Always knowing where they are. At school. At play practice. At a ballgame. At a friend's. ...looking at the clock mid day and anticipating the door opening, the sigh, the smile, the laugh, the shrug. 'How was school?' answered for years in too much detail. 'And then he said....and then I said to him."

My girls have always talked to us. We use to go around the table at dinner every night and each child told us about her day. Then as they got older and dinner was grabbing something on the way to soccer practice, or play practice, or swim meets they told me their day as we traveled. To this day, as our family joke, Madison sometimes starts out her day sagas with, "You dropped me off..." because she learned early that I like details told in story form from beginning to end and her beginning always began at drop off.

This summer the girls would come home from work either together or individually and we would sit on the couch and they would regale me and one another of their day and the antics of the camp kids they supervised as counselors. We laughed. So much. And then Tom would ask them to do it all over again when he got home and we'd all laugh together. He and I don't talk much about being left behind, but I know he is feeling the loss just as hard. He spent all summer leaving work to be home by six o'clock. If you know my husband, you know that is shocking.

"Eighteen years isn't a chapter in anyone's life. It's a whole book, and that book is ending and what comes next is connected to, but different from, everything that has gone before. Before was an infant, a toddler, a child, a teenager. Before was feeding and changing and teaching and comforting and guiding and disciplining, everything hands on. Now? Now the kids are young adults and on their own and the parents are on the periphery, and it's not just a chapter change. It's a sea change." - Beverly Beckham

I guessed at some of this as a teenager, and worry for my own mother kept me at home attending our hometown college. It was a burden I shouldered early on, making the choice because of some small debt I felt I owed or for the love of a parent I felt wouldn't handle it well. We discussed this my mother and I many years later, and we both had regrets, but now, now I get it on an even playing field. It's also why I agreed with my youngest for her to live on campus despite her choice of attending our "hometown" college. I wanted to acknowledge her wings as I pushed her out of the nest.

"As for the wings analogy? It's sweet, but children are not birds. Parents don't let them go and build another nest and have all new offspring next year. Saying goodbye to your children and their childhood is much harder than all the pithy sayings make it seem. Because that's what going to college is. It's goodbye. It's not a death. And it's not a tragedy. But it's not nothing either." - Beverly Beckham

It's not nothing either. Having never experienced this, I hadn't a clue. I've apologized to many friends and family who paved this way first because I should have just sent or given hugs instead of my two cents. Each experience is of course different, but it certainly isn't nothing. So I breathe and cry if I want or make jokes or write.

"To grow a child, a body changes. It needs more sleep. It rejects food it used to like. It expands and it adapts. To let go of a child, a body changes too. It sighs and it cries and it feels weightless and heavy at the same time."- Beverly Beckham

I've always looked toward the future despite growing up in a family that revered the past. Even now I think how leaving for college is a precursor to moving away, getting married, having kids. I regret not taking more time to live in the moment, to enjoy what I had in front of me instead of worrying about what was next. This is where I change that, to allow myself to grieve this loss, to discover the me without two girls at home, and to find a balance.

They will return, for holidays, for summers, to visit. Madison has called us this week to give updates on her RA training, to report a computer issue, and to assure us she is sleeping in an air conditioned building. Darcy will do the same. The calls may be fleeting but they will be there, and we will cling to that and yes, the possible weekend visits from the youngest only an hour away.

And just like that it was better

Maddy is moved in and settled into her dorm room, although she is sleeping across the quad in another dorm room. One that is air conditioned. We approached the second day with a bright and cheerful attitude and it obviously worked. We discovered that the building is under construction on the first floor as the lounge gets renovated. Thus the warning signs posted. What I had assumed was a warning against a 1922 built building was just a typical construction sign. Huge relief for me.

We cleared out the storage unit in one trip and closed that account while I made friends with the owner of the place.

Him: "You have tenacity! I like that."
Me: "Most people just call me a smart ass."
Him: "I was trying to be polite."

We took our time carrying the items up the thirty stairs, resting in between in front of the fans. We left after that to eat and soak in some air conditioning. The day was cooler with less humidity and we had left the windows open over night so the room smelled better. We walked around downtown after lunch and got some yogurt before we headed back to finish the room.

By the time we left that night around nine o'clock the room, was put together, the carpet vacuumed, and we both felt pretty proud of having gotten it all done. We were dirty and sweaty and a tad sore in the limbs, but the damn room was done!

We made a shopping list for the next day for all her toiletry items and little extras, showered and went to bed. We slept in, had a nice breakfast, headed to Walmart and ended up buying a futon that had to be in the biggest box yet. It was certainly the heaviest. I about lost it, but I held it together and we opened the box and carried the futon in two separate pieces in two trips. We put it together and had time left over to hang Madison's NY playbills on the wall before she headed off to RA training and I headed to the airport.

Mission accomplished! I have a little over a week to rest up before the next moving experience for daughter #2. Should be interesting to compare the two since her building is brand new and guess what? Still under construction...

Not a good start to college for daughter #1

After our Thursday "windfall" with Maranda, Friday sucked. Madison met her fellow resident assistant co-workers who handed over her keys and her RA supplies which included crayons, a stapler, tacks, and glue. Everyone was cordial and friendly and they welcomed us and waved us off toward her residence hall across the lawn.

The name of her building is Grimes. It was appropriate. The first door we entered was an entry with stairs going up and down. Down had a construction worker with a mess of paraphernalia strewn around his ankles as he worked on something out of our sight. We chose up and attempted to open the door. The lock was completely gone and yet the door would not open. We asked the worker for help and he shook his head and told us we needed to go around. We had no idea what that meant and so we exited.

A hop, skip, and a jump down the walkway took us to another door. Same set up. Up or down, but the doors were open. The stairs were filthy, the building smelled, and it was completely devoid of humans. We went up, found Madison's room, and unlocked it. Surprise! It was huge and had two nice windows.

We were both giddy at the size and we twirled in happiness. Madison wandered around the room contemplating how to set it up and at some point she stopped in front of the thermostat. The building was hot and stuffy and the room even more so. She messed with the controls. Nothing. I messed with the controls. Nothing. It was 82 degrees in the room.

She called over to the co-workers sitting in the air conditioned building across the way. Asked how to work the thermostat. She was told that for the next two weeks due to construction in the building there would be no air conditioning. Let me say that again. THERE WOULD BE NO AIR CONDITIONING FOR THE NEXT TWO WEEKS.

Are you kidding me? Who? Who was the person in charge of these RA's arriving two weeks early into a building still under construction and had no air conditioning? Obviously, this person, and I blame the director of housing, did not take into consideration several factors.

1. Building under construction.
2. No air conditioning in August where the weather is in the 90's.
3. The RA's affected are TWO people. TWO people. No email? No other arrangements?
4. RA's would be moving into said building with a shit load of stuff.
5. One of the RA's is coming from another state with no vehicle.

She was offered fans and another room to live in for the next two weeks. She asked for fans so that we could move in her stuff. I'm only here for three days to help her move in. She has no car. Her belongings are in a storage unit miles from campus. We asked about parking since UNC has permitted spaces everywhere, and since this isn't the official moving in weekend I was concerned about parking. They assured us all was well since we were moving in and off we went to park at her building.


There was a ramp leading into a door on the side of the building and so Madison trooped down the ramp with the dolly full of boxes, me bringing up the rear far behind. When she opened that door there was a huge piece of plastic from the ceiling to the floor inside with large warning signs attached crying out about asbestos and cancer. She immediately shut the door. We had to go down nine stairs instead of using the ramp and then hike around the building and then up two flights of eleven stairs each. The building has no elevator. It was a long day.

Madison called again to her co-workers to ask about the safety of the asbestos building. No worries she was told, but that didn't reassure me at all. It took us the rest of the day to unload ONE load from the unit. We hauled boxes and cubes and loaded containers up and down stairs. We weren't strong enough at times to haul things and so we opened the boxes in the foyer and made trips with the stuff inside. We were drenched by the end, faces bright red from heat, and oh, so grouchy. We shut the dorm door and left after unloading the car.

As I drove away I noticed something on my windshield. A citation. For parking. Thankfully, it was just a warning with a zero fine, but still. Chalk up number 6 on my factor list because apparently parking to unload belongings was not taken into consideration either. Neither was an asbestos project in the building. I was not a happy parent at this point in regards to this university.

Tom and I have agreed she will not live there until the building is up and with air conditioning. Tom wants to know if they have a permit for occupancy. They have offered to move her for the two weeks of RA training and tomorrow we are taking them up on that. We will finish moving in her stuff to this dorm, pack another bag for her to live elsewhere for two weeks, and then I'll try not to worry every day of the entire school year.

I would like to storm all sorts of offices, but Madison has made me promise not to and since today is Saturday the offices will be closed anyhow. I have to let her handle things, but it isn't easy when your child's health and well being are at risk and you're forking over a boat load of cash.

Here's hoping that today brings unicorns and rainbows. We sure could use it.

Maranda saves the day

I've been working so hard at planning my empty nest and going forth positively that yesterday's crying jag while Madison was packing up her belongings took me by surprise. NO! That was not the way it was supposed to go! 

Ah! Best laid plans and all that.

I recovered and lost it again and recovered and lost it again. I did it all behind closed doors where she didn't have to witness it. She, of course, had left packing to the last minute and was running from one room to the other, headphones covering her ears, to gather her stuff and put it into the four suitcases that Southwest allows us for FREE. Shout out to Southwest, the best airline EVER. She never knew my meltdown.

The plane left late because it arrived late from some city with nasty weather. We barely noticed because it was twenty minutes, and the Southwest flight crew was hilarious the entire trip with sly jokes and a cappella. With a pit stop along our way to the baggage claim at the women's restroom, our luggage was just coming around the carousel when we arrived and we were out the door and on the shuttle bus to our rental car in record time.

In the past, Tom has taken care of my rental needs. He tends to go with the cheapest prices, which I was taught isn't always the best. My mother's motto was, "You get what you pay for," and the girls and I listened. He had used Payless Car Rental for several of my visits, and the last time, they tried some funny business with me and added funky charges and there was no one behind the counter for me to dispute it. I had to deal with it when I returned home, and although they did refund me, I was a ball of anxiety and stress. But this time I got my rental from Advantage and I booked it in May as soon as Madison knew when she needed to return to school.

There was no one in line at Advantage and the man behind the counter welcomed me and began my reservation. I, of course, started my nonsensical chattering which I believe everyone loves about me and finds entertaining, but I'm not sure he did. He was not wearing a name tag and so I didn't get his name, but in the course of my babbling I did let him know that he had a nice laugh. It was deep and throaty and immediately brought to mind something I could use in my romance novel because that is where my mind is constantly now, and so I told him that, clarifying it as sexy, along the lines of Barry White sexy.

Madison: "He was clearly uncomfortable with that."

His counter partner, Maranda, (how cool is that spelling of her name...for sure that is cropping up in my novel) however found me more how I believe people see me...delightful and fun-loving. She laughed, and when I followed Mr. Sexy Voice's instructions to check the car over, she asked Madison whether or not I wrote about her and Madison told her about my blog. When I returned Maranda asked me for my blog address, and I gave her my business cards, and we thanked them both and went out to slot #17 where our car awaited.

It was a hybrid. First of all, I barely know cars. I can't tell one car from the next in terms of make and model and refer to cars as vans, not vans, the tan one, and that car. Now the rental company was throwing in some new fangled hybrid that I believed had to be plugged into an outlet or something, and that came with keys that weren't really keys and were as large and heavy as a door stopper, and were certainly not going to fit in my pocket where I normally carry the keys to my VAN.

Madison pushed the button to get the car started. That was as far as we got. After farting around inside the car plugging in GPS coordinates for ten minutes, I realized the air conditioner was not cooling down the car. Madison, who forgot her phone charger (first item left at home) was trying to use mine and the hybrid car was telling her no-can-do too much battery power usage. I had no idea how to put the car into drive, and in searching for ways to do so noticed a funky picture on the dashboard in the area where ALARMS are located on my VAN at home.

Me: "What the hell is that picture? Get the manual out of the glove compartment so we can figure out how to use this damn hybrid. Why can't things be simple?"

Madison: "I think you should go back inside and tell them we want a regular car."

I didn't want to admit defeat. Actually, what I didn't want to do was toddle back into the office and admit I was an old lady who had no idea how to drive "these new fancy cars that you kids are driving nowadays". After finding a knob and turning it toward the "D" and still not moving forward and after locating the picture of the ALARM that stood for "service engine soon", I went back inside to find Maranda manning the office and no sign of Mr. Sexy Voice.

God love Maranda! (Hi Maranda! YOU ROCK!) She didn't make fun of me or laugh or even snicker. After discovering all the full size cars were hybrid cars, she upgraded me to a SUV. A NORMAL CAR! With air conditioning so cold our teeth were chattering after ten minutes. With no pictures or ALARMS or warnings. It is the smoothest car I've ever driven. According to the hotel guy, it is a Toyota Rava 4 for those who may want to know. I love it. Long live the old time cars that don't need to be plugged in!

Husband: "So you went back inside and asked for the horse and buggy."
Me: "Uh, yeah, I don't know how to drive those things either and I hate horses. Maranda knew what I needed. Plus, she's reading my blog now. Hi Maranda!"

I'm nominating her for Employee of the Week or Month or whatever Advantage Rental Car does for their employees because she turned what most likely was going to be a slobbering, my daughter is leaving home again for college and I won't see her for five months, crying mess (and I was that close people) into a joyful, cool aired car ride to our hotel.

Here's to a smooth transition of moving into the dorms and me holding my shit together! Thanks Maranda!