A week ago I was getting ready for one of my favorite times – Laborless Labor Day weekend. From Friday afternoon until Monday whenever, I would be spending my time in a great house on a great beach with great friends. The trick was getting there in the first place. Had things gone slightly different, I’d be writing this from a jail cell.
Friday itself was a time sucking work day and although I had hoped to leave as soon as the bell rang, that did not work out for me. And I had meant to do my grocery shopping earlier in the week. That didn’t happen either.
So when I got home sweating and crabby and two hours later than I wanted, not to mention needing to pack in a hurry, I did NOT need complications. Especially complications that come via a sixteen-year old male entity that possesses my son’s body from time to time.
To boil ten minutes of acute shit-hitting-the-fan scenario down to a nutshell, he was pissing me off. It’s my own fault for allowing he and my friend’s son to make plans that included them on OUR weekend. Maybe a little my fault too that I walked in the door with sparks flying off me from a bad day. But to skip the boring parts, he was planning on riding up with us when my daughter dropped us off (us= me + sister who had flown in the night before and hadn’t seen said nephew since one year and six inches in height earlier). Once at the North Shore he and buddy would go for a lovely swim and ride back with sis to our house. All these plans were made while I was working. I thought my friend had OK’d it; her son had told her that I had OK’d it…
It’s countdown time, about two hours to sunset, and the-one-who-possesses-my-son slid his surfboard on top our duffels in my little hatchback. It’s SO NOT WORKING. The entire front third of his surfboard is sticking between the driver and passenger seats. The nose of his board is angled to my sister in the passenger seat and the look on her face as she peers at it is something like,
“Oh, so you’re the piece of fiberglass planning on clothes lining me in any near accident. How do you do.”
There’s hissing from me. A remark about how the surf board needs to stay in the garage because it is such a better place for it since it will be NEARLY DARK when we get there. In my behalf, I did not mention that it was better for him as well. Who wants to go through life with a surfboard jammed up their behind? Which I think could have been argued appropriate in any court of law because the kid had just looked at me and said, “You’re ridiculous.”
For a second I honestly could feel the blood rush to my head like a cartoon and could picture it exploding, but then…
Suddenly, with sparks flying between us, I wasn’t angry. I was exhausted and hot and sweaty. With slumped shoulders I said plain as day, “you need to choose between staying home with your surfboard or coming up without it.”
The Universe must have decided to cut me a break, because suddenly my son was back. I could see his eyes clear. He actually said, “Fine, I’ll leave the surfboard here if that makes you happy.”
I was able to dive into the ocean just as the sun was setting. I was surrounded in amber, violet, and cobalt blue surreal liquid velvet. I floated on my back and watched the clouds above me change colors.
As I walked up to the beach house for pupus and cocktails, my kids were getting ready to leave. They both gave me huge hugs, told me they loved me and to have a great time. They’re awesome, but…
No shit Sherlock.