I have this vague memory when I was smaller of adults cooing over how old I was getting, how tiny I used to be, and how they just remember me as a certain age.
I always found that annoying. Like, how? Do you not see me standing here now, clearly older? I was especially weirded out by people who exclaimed how big I’d grown from when they used to babysit me, because I had no memory of any of that. Then they’d all wonder aloud where the time went and everyone else would nod in unison and agreement. I’d run away and play the first chance I had, wondering why all adults were so strange.
Then I watched my sister walk across the stage at her college graduation, the proud new owner of a Bachelor’s degree holder (they send it in the mail later which I’ve always thought was strange. Congratulations on your brand new degree….holder!) , and wondered to myself where the time went.
Confession: that’s not the first time that thought had crossed my mind.
And I already know I’m strange, so don’t bother telling me.
To backtrack a bit, I boarded a plane on Thursday headed for the
mediocre great and boring exciting state of Ohio. After a small freak out on Wednesday night about the fact that I wouldn’t be able to carry on my hairspray or mousse (see fear: pouf hair) and a perhaps-a-bit-too-frantic text to my mom and sister about the existence of said items at the house, I boarded the plane confident that I’d be able to keep my hair under control for the weekend.
If you had my hair, you’d understand.
Natalie had three main goals for the weekend:
2. Move from apartment A to apartment B
3. Hang out with cool sister
Ok, I may have made that last one up.
Day One of “Operation Move Apartment” went fairly smoothly. No one broke any bones or threw any items across the room, which to me counts as a victory. I almost threw a do-it-yourself bench across the room when I couldn’t get the pieces to fit into the pre- measured holes, and found myself repeatedly sitting on them in my attempts to get the legs all the way into the seat. I was especially annoyed (albeit appreciative) after one of her guy friends managed to get them to fit in about 2 minutes.(Apparently all 128 pounds of my body just wasn’t good enough.) What was supposed to be a half day task naturally ended up taking all day, because the apartment hadn’t been cleaned very well after the previous person had moved out. Seriously, the dirt on the shelves? Gross. And in desperate need of a good scrub and some contact paper.
Contact paper and I have a love-hate relationship after spending several hours in a tiny kitchen (standing on the previously mentioned stool) covering shelves. Measure, cut, peel, unstick paper that stuck to itself or myself, press. Unpeel, repress. Flatten out bubbles. Unpeel, fix corner, repress. Flatten out bubbles. Cut excess with razor blade. Flatten. Rinse, repeat. I did it so many times that each time I peeled the paper from the backing I sang a two word song to myself titled simply “Contact Paper”, which naturally became the joke of the weekend and was something I started singing at random times to amuse myself. I declared to anyone who would listen that I was 29 going on 18. Until that evening anyway when Natalie and her friend decided they wanted to go out to the bars….at midnight. It was already, like, 2 hours past my bedtime.
At 2am, I pulled the “old” card and declared it was time to head back because I wanted to go to bed.
I am so lame.
Also, on a totally unrelated note, double fudge cookie dough blizzards with peanut butter cups? Fabulous.
Saturday I got my happy butt out of bed and dragged it and Natalie’s butt running. We showered, ran a couple errands, grabbed breakfast and then I attacked contact paper: part 2. (Measure, cut, peel, unstick paper that stuck to itself or myself, press. Unpeel, repress. Flatten out bubbles. Unpeel, fix corner, repress. Flatten out bubbles. Cut excess with razor blade. Flatten. Rinse, repeat.)
After that, it was off to graduation:
but I’ll totally steal your dollar when you aren’t looking
21 and 29 respectively, going on 5. We ranged many ages this weekend
FINALLY after all of that it was time for operation contact paper: part 3. (Measure, cut, peel, unstick paper that stuck to itself or myself, press. Unpeel, repress. Flatten out bubbles. Unpeel, fix corner, repress. Flatten out bubbles. Cut excess with razor blade. Flatten. Rinse, repeat.)
And you thought I was going to say dinner.
After another late night the whole family went to church the next morning. My aunt, who suffers from arthritis, asked me if I wouldn’t mind rubbing a couple of knots out of her shoulders. Afterwards, she told me she caught herself starting to ask me if, and I quote “did han.d jobs”. (i.e. would I massage her hands?)
For the record, the answer is yes, I do massage hands. Get your mind out of the gutter.
We took a trip in my mom’s convertible, where my mom and sister shared their incredible “cool-ness”
Suddenly, I had blinked and the weekend was over. And I found myself asking the question that I found so strange before: where did the time go? In fact, even with this incredibly long drawn out fertility journey, I ask myself that. It was nice to spend a weekend not worried, focused or even caring about fertility.
It’s time for more weekends like that. Ones that involve living and enjoying life.
Thanks for the awesome weekend, family.
May 8, 2012 at 8:41 pm
I gave you an award, check my blog, because I think you’re really special and utterly deserve to be recognized.