When I was in high school/college, I remember getting ready to go out to the movies, or a party, or a dance club with my friends. My mom would be sitting on her comfy chair, in her PJs, drinking a steaming mug of tea. She'd be watching whatever drama was popular at the time (probably the last season of "Dallas"), curled up with a blanket and her feet in fluffy slippers, our old dog Jingles lying next to her chair (or probably on the sofa). As I was headed out the door in my pegged jeans and flannel shirt, ready to dance to the techno beat, I felt sad for my mom. How awful, I thought. She *has* to sit here, all bored and lonely, while I am headed off to be shoved around in a stinky sweaty dance club with wall to wall people and beer being spilled all over me (and perhaps even some spilling into my mouth! And down my throat!). I get to stay at this club until the wee hours and then finish off the night at the Pleasantville Diner with a dish of "Disco Fries" (OMG. You don't know what Disco Fries are?!?! They are a New York/New Jersey diner staple. It's a plate of greasy, salty french fries topped with melted American cheese and brown gravy. And I wonder why i put on 10 pounds between high school and college?!?).
Then I couldn't fathom the fact that my mother was up at the "crack of dawn" (probably 7:30 am), putzing around the house doing laundry, cleaning bathrooms, running out to the grocery store, working out at the gym, etc. while my lazy butt remained in bed until at least 11 am. And if I didn't have anything to do the next night? UGH! I was SO bored!! How could someone possibly sit home on a Friday or Saturday night and do NOTHING?
Fast forward almost 20 years (Jeesh, does that make me sound OLD or what...yikes...).
OK. Let's be technical here because that is really making me feel old.
Fast forward 17 years (ah. much better). It is Saturday night at the Aeschliman household. After a fun filled day of morning karate and the elementary school carnival (my head is still reeling from that one, Lisa!), Saturday night is upon us. Our evening officially began with homemade guacamole with chicken fajitas that I was thinking about since 2 pm. Promptly after dinner, around 6:30, I threw on my PJs. No use keeping these jeans on. I hummed happily as I set the coffeemaker for 7:15 am for my Sunday morning jolt. I laid out my clothes for the 6 miler the girls and I are doing at 8:30 am. I kicked the husband out for his neighborhood poker game (of which he left in sweatpants and a running shirt. I said to him, "Jeez, you really get dressed up for these things, don't you?" and he replied, "Kim, it's just a bunch of guys drinking and farting...". Good times...). Once he leaves, I tuck my little boys into bed. Thank God they are not old enough to be driving off to techno clubs or college bars. At this point all I worry about is when SpongeBob says "Stupid" or Mr. Crabbs calls Patrick an "Idiot".
Now I sit in the office with a steaming cup of decaf green tea, typing this. After I am done here, I will head into the living room and switch on the TV in hopes of finding some sappy Lifetime movie, or an episode of "What Not to Wear". I can't wait to just sit down, curled up in a blanket with my slippered feet sticking out. Other than my old yellow dog farting beside me (she should go to the poker game), I will be totally alone. And the stillness of the house will be utter and complete bliss.
All these years later, Mom, I can relate.