It's So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday

What is it about Boyz II Men that makes you want to Claire Danes-ugly sob or couple skate?  Those motown Philly songbirds reduce me to a weeping, brace-faced 8th grader every time. 

Every. darn. time.

Tis the season of fond farewells. And I hate goodbyes. Scratch that-  I loathe them. With a gutteral disdain. So much sad hugging. I barely recognize my stoic self. 

Parting is like a root canal. Without Novocaine. Wearing your fat pants- because you have gained 5lbs from stress eating.  No sweetness in that sorrow.

Just when you meet someone hilarious who laughs heartily at your lame jokes and eats gluten with gusto and doesn't hate your cray-cray kids- that's the day you start forwarding your mail to a new APO address. Sayanora new friend.

And it never gets easier. Ever.

Though, I suppose if detachment were effortless, you would be fast-tracking it to socio-path ville. So, there is that.

This time around, in Charlottesville, there was a harvest of potential "besties." And, well, I wish I liked those ladies less. It would been easier to bid them "adieu."  

The great(est) state of Texas was the scene of our first farewell. Traveling alone with my three babies earned me enough pitying stares that- in hindsight- I should have attached a donation cup to Colson's leash. Still. Friends like the Mills are treasured commodities. 

How could we not say "ciao" and reduce my thigh gap with some chicken-fried fare.

Carlita, my super sweet,  Panamanian-raised, wildly creative, beautiful friend is an illustrious hostess that makes me look like Miss Hannigan running a Motel 6.  Her homes are a reliable oasis of guilt-free sweet tea and "slap your mama" good green beans.  I am lucky to know her.  (For this reason and maybe two more. I jest. At least three more.)

The Ft. Worth Stockyards offered my kids the scintillating stampede experience complete with be-chapped cowboys and manure-crusted cobblestone. Very authentic. Texas possesses that certain "John Wayne" je ne sais quoi. And I heart it. A lot.

Then, there was the George W. Bush Presidential Library. Say what you will- Actually don't.  It just sounds whiny and tired and petulant.  I respect that man who led honorably through an unprecedented attack on American soil and the museum provided a poignant primer on 9/11 for our kids (who now love him too). Take that, haters.

Let's roll.

A beachhouse weekend with 9 grandchildren at the Crest might drive most to the bottle or birth control or both. Not this singular weekend, however. Despite the Atlantic waters reliable murkiness and arctic temps, still those intrepid kids swam.  With gusto.  And even as Eowyn literally burst through the deck's screen door with enthusiasm-  mine was not dampened.  Should I mention the donuts? Robust and divine.  Beach cruiser bikes so sleek and wide-seated- this wide-seated gal could weep. Cousins galore, sandy sheets, endless tan-lines. Some sweet days.

In other news- You'll be relieved to know that Colson's well-fed soul no longer hangs in the balance. *wink*  He was finally "dedicated" at my parent's church, presided over by my father (so you know it's legit).  It also served as a farewell to Mainline protestant services as we head to the papal playground of Italy. Goodbye worship led by a hipster in shorts, with hints of chest hair entangled in a faded guitar strap.  Hello, Vatican.  I am your Martin Luther huckleberry. In stilettos.

 When your mom turns 60- you assume a certain risk by hosting a surprise party in her honor. The shock alone could result in cardiac arrest. Fortunately, my mom is like a younger Christie Brinkley. So, the only real threat was her discovery of our secret plotting since I am a terrible liar and she is a relentless sleuth. The elegant sunset soiree boasted of favorite friends and catered delights with no threat of fatality.  And, for my mom, 60 is really the new 40.

Finally, Memorial Day was a pageantry of Americana as we said goodbye to competitive capitalism and strong industry and public smoking prohibitions. The iconic Doylestown parade and festive family picnic with a random birthday party (at the dreadful  Chuck E. Cheese) made this day of farewells truly bittersweet.  Goodbye home of the brave, land of the free. Farewell my fabulous family and favorite friends.

As the Boyz sing, we've come to the end of the road. Ciao