I know what you're thinking ..

Oh man she's posting pictures of flowers from her wonderful boyfriend again. *yawn* Um, no. I'm not. These are not my flowers.


My daughter is in down-state Illinois tonight, insistent as she was to drive down there even though the Mississippi River is flooding and levees are breaking, she had to go. Oh - and even though her Mom was worried. But - Dani assures me there is no danger where she is going, calling me when she got there to tell me "Mom I didn't even see a drop of water all the way down here. There isn't any flooding where I am."

So these flowers are not mine, they are hers. These were sent to Dani from Dan, a couple (few?) days ago. He is the reason she is in down-state Illinois right now, she is with him. She drove over 5 hours to get there, they are going to a wedding down there.


Dan sent these flowers to my daughter, it's seems fairly certain he cares for her a great deal. And it is doubly certain that I am counting on him to take good care of her down there, even though she would say she doesn't need taking care of.


The flooding isn't over and I won't be convinced she is safe until it is. And I don't really care if she doesn't want me to put the onus on Dan to watch over her while she is there but let's face it. He is the reason she is there so it is his responsibility to make sure she gets home safely to me. Because I said so. That's all the reason I need.


Beautiful flowers, by the way. Beautiful girl.

Rainbows, moonbeams, and butterflies.

Well she’s ba-a-a-c-k….! With all her stuff. Dani had a single room at college this year which means it was more like an apartment judging by the amount of stuff she accumulated. There are bags and boxes of God knows what in the living room, the garage, and I hope she has at least some of it in her bedroom.

She brought back all kinds of stuff, even the new boy. Looking for a picture of him? Well, we killed him. He is stashed under a couple of those black garbage bags with his face pressed into the cat hair covered carpet.

Except – she’s smiling while she is posing in the midst of her college possessions so I’m guessing you know I’m fooling. No, the new boy has gone back to where he lives, safe and sound and without any eye swelling that I saw and only a few sneezes. Hallelujah. We DIDN’T kill him.

I’m not going to do a whole critique here, how rude would that be? He seems like a very nice guy, honest, very forthright and intelligent. He’s got a good sense of humor, a bit on the odd side, so he fits right in. The only strike he has against him is that he is dating my daughter and I don’t know him. I would say that’s a natural strike any guy will start out with until he’s been around for a while so I’m not picking on him. Oh by the way – his name is Dan.

We’re a little Dan heavy around here. My son hangs out with a guy named Dan, and sometimes this other guy named Dan. My brother’s name is Dan, my daughter is Dani and her new boy is Dan. STOP THE MADNESS!!! Oh sorry. Just a little Dan crazy for a second there.

My daughter is home, and so happy with this new boy I’m tempted to lift up her skirt to verify that rainbows and moonbeams really are shooting out of her butt. With butterflies. And possibly kittens.

Um, but I won’t. Have to draw the line somewhere.

Comings and goings

*
This morning my son left for Florida, to go to his father's wedding. His laptop bag was filled with much more than his backpack, so it's questionable whether or not he actually brought with him everything he needs. Like oh, I don't know, a toothbrush? I can only hope. But the boy has priorities.

I came home from work tonight ready for a bit of a nap. It was a long day at work broken up only by lunch with my BF at a nice Chinese buffet restaurant. That was a lovely interlude between boring and frantic at work, from one extreme to the other.

I was reading a magazine and getting very close to laying down on the couch when the phone rang, which doesn't happen that much around here. Anyone who knows me knows I hate the phone. Hate to hear it ring, hate to talk on it, hate to listen to messages from it. I'm not anti-social, I've just worked on the phone for a number of years so it is not my favorite mode of communication.

On the other end was my daughter, a bit freaked out because she and her boyfriend just saw a car coming the opposite direction roll and land in a ditch. Everyone turned out to be okay, but it was scary just the same, and Dani wanted to talk to her Mom. I love that. She still needs me.

And - she was less than an hour from home. Surprise! I had no idea she was coming home for the weekend. I didn't get my nap but I am going to bed now, which is earlier than usual. One child left - but one came home. I guess it all evens out in the end, right? Right.

*

Pick on somebody your own size!

I confess I am the worst at listening to my messages. Gone are the days when I would look at the answering machine when I came home, hoping for the blinking light. Gone are the days when I saw that red light on my work phone and immediately picked it up to call my voice mail. I listen, but I must admit it is rarely in a timely manner.

So listening to yesterdays messages at work - today, I found out my doctor's office called, asking me to call them back. Ah, the results of the mammogram. So I call. It is doubtful that anything is wrong but the hospital says they need some better views of the right side. Probably just need a clearer picture, we will drop the order in the mail and you will have it by tomorrow most likely.

Coming home I see the red light blinking on the answering machine and this time it is the hospital, a woman from THE BREAST CENTER (all in caps of course) who really sounds like she has horrible news, asking me to call back during regular business hours. Not the reassuring voice of someone I would pick to call a patient so as not to scare the bejaysus out of them. I'm just sayin'.

One of the girls I work with had this same exact thing happen 2 weeks ago, and all was fine. I'm actually not worried yet, I figure I probably zigged when I should have zagged, and I blurred one of the x-rays. Leave it to me to screw up a mammogram. It was a screening not a test right? But I managed to get it wrong anyway. My bad.

I tell the boyfriend who is more compassionate than the average bear, not sure how he will react.

"The right one?"

I nod.

"That's the smaller one," he says with a slight smile, but looking a bit indignant.

"Yup" I say.

"Why are they picking on the little one?"

I smile. He always knows the right thing to say to make me do that.