Monday, July 28, 2014

Up the Downed Suitcase

Note:  Read "Legend of My Falls, "One Flew Over the Basement Stairs," "Snow White Falling on Cedar," "Down, Down and Away," "The Accidental Tourist," and "The Latte Show" before reading this post.

When our daughter, our eldest, went out of state for college, her youngest brother took over her bedroom. When I look back now, I wonder if that hurt her. She was such an independent girl, I knew she wouldn't want to come back to live at home again. Meanwhile, her two younger brothers, who were four years apart, had been sharing a room since we needed a crib and a single bed. Then we went to bunk beds. Then, in August of 1995, we took our daughter to college, then came home and work feverishly for three solid days to convert a blue, white and pink room with wall-to-wall carpet into a dark green, white and dark wood-trimmed room with hardwood floors for our youngest son. Then my husband was off on a series of long business trips and our sons were breathing a sigh of relief because they didn't have to share a room. That part was good for me, but of course I missed my husband and I missed my daughter. Life would never be quite the same.

The first time our daughter came home for a visit she walked in with her things and started to turn right to go down the hall to her room. Then she stopped herself and said, "That's right, I don't have a room anymore." She turned back to the left and headed for the family room, where the sleeper sofa awaited her, and for the three years she was in college--yes, she did college in three years, and with a 4.0, because she is an amazing go-getter---the family room is where she slept when she came home for a visit.

One of those years, when she was home for spring break, I had finished doing all the laundry and carried hers to the family room to leave for her. Walking across the room with the folded laundry piled up in my arms, I neglected to see her suitcase on the floor. I didn't just stumble, I tripped across it and fell all the way to the other side, landing on my face.

This seems to be a theme with me. Just like I didn't spill the lattes in "The Latte Show," I didn't mess up my daughter's folded laundry either. There should be a metal in there for me somewhere. Instead, I have sciatica.

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