January 06, 2005 - 1:18 pm

Yesterday was my first day back in the office since December the 17th. Nearly three weeks of full-time mommyhood, complete with giggling, sweetness, and “I love you, mommy!” offset by a touch of whining, vomit, “It could be meningitis,” and “Are we there yet?” Throw in a visit from my mother-in-law and a hernia operation for John and you get a pretty clear picture of my vacation. Boy, it’s tough to get back into work!

One of the 27 emails I’ve gotten since I last turned on my computer was from my friend Melanie with this P.S. at the bottom:

P.S. The boys got a robot, they named R2D2. It fell off the couch and broke into pieces... Well I came upstairs and found R2 buried under all my pillows on the floor... Here is a photo of the Headstone the boys made for him.

And then my other funny friend Wendy replied with this:

I told Melanie how much I enjoyed the alternate spelling of Artodto. I had to forward that one to my family, since we have a similar story. My grandfather, after seeing star wars, had trouble with that robot's name, too, and called it Arty Doo-Doo.

Then there's John’s grandmother who loved Magnum, P.I. but referred to him as Magnet, P-One instead. Aren’t grandparents the best?

The kids and I flew down to visit my grandmother in Clearwater, Florida (just outside Tampa) two days after Christmas. Her name is Mary Elizabeth, but she’s been Dissie to her family since she was a little girl. She’ll be 92 in a few weeks and does water aerobics three times a week and plays golf at least once a week. She still works crossword puzzles regularly, although she admitted when I was there this time that she’s getting lazy and isn’t working as many as she used to. When I’m 92, I hope I’m as lazy as Dissie is. She’s married to her third husband because she keeps outliving them.

I don’t think I’ll outlive any of my husbands because I have personal safety issues; as in, I’m not very mindful of my own. I’ve only come to realize this as an adult, but I’m pretty sure it’s been a major theme all my life and is probably due to the fact that I don’t see myself as other people see me.

Here’s what other people think I look like:

And here’s how I see myself:

Thinking back over some of the more interesting, daredevilishly stupid things I’ve had the good fortune to live through over the years, I thought about starting a series of entries entitled “It’s A Miracle I’m Alive” or something to that effect. But after more careful consideration, I don’t think it would be a good idea to tell you about most of those things. You’d either worship me as an immortal or have me forcibly committed to an asylum for crisis counseling. Assuming, of course, that you 1) know where I live, 2) give one rat’s ass about me and my “issues,” and 3) would jet in from wherever you are to come to the aid of someone whose diary you are reading on the internet. Which, I’m pretty sure, would make you the one in need of counseling.

Well, let me just reassure (both of) my readers: I’VE HAD (just about) ENOUGH OF PUTTING MYSELF IN DANGER, AND I’M (very nearly) THROUGH WITH DOING STUPID THINGS. This is largely because of my kids. They need me, and I need to be around and in one piece for them, unlike poor old Arty Doo-Doo. At least until they can toast their own Pop-Tarts without setting their hair on fire.

But don’t misunderstand - I’m not apologizing for my dubious past behavior, however fit for a Tom Waits lyric it may be. I might flash back as a 92-year-old great-grandmother to that time I jumped in the Savannah river at night and pretended to be a salamander while tripping on acid, or that time I had to duck into a camera shop in Istanbul for help when an Islamic man tried to grab me and force me into his car, or that time I tried to eat Roy Horn. But I can assure you I will most definitely not look back on my life wistfully and ask, “Why didn’t I live life to the fullest while I was still able to control my bladder?”

~Samantha

recommended:
reading -How to be Good by Nick Hornby
viewing -The Station Agent
listening -"Black Is the Color of My True Love's Hair" by Nina Simone

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