Brandon's Road Trip (now with more Indio!)

I always had my doubts about that car he and his father chose...an Audi, maybe what, eight years old? It's rather cool-looking, no doubt (and Brandon has always been much cooler than the rest of us). Black, sleek, shiny, and menacing (something Brandon is definitely not.)When he told me of his plans to drive it from Los Angeles to Austin (in July! Through deserts! And in a car that has a recent history of overheating!), I was naturally concerned. However, the plan was to get it into the shop prior to the trip, get it up to par, and get on the road, pronto. No more fighting with his sister over HER car. And, much as I love him, with his illustrious driving record, he wasn't getting his hands on our three-months-new Honda, either.




I watch his plane take off, just a tiny bit enviously. Don't I wish that the person PAYING for the tickets would get the AAdvantage Miles?? Nope, it's the person that flies, no matter whose dime pays for the ticket. Both Brandon and Rebecca are accumulating a decent frequent flier miles balance. I'll admit that I'm jealous. Between my commutes and the kids flying back and forth from California continually...you'd think I'd be offered a free membership in the Admiral's Club, at least. And when do *I* get to go anywhere FUN!? (Breathe, Mom. Your turn is coming.)




Several days later, (and those days I'm sure included much partying with the former roomates/frat bros) Brandon calls me in the late afternoon to notify me that the car's repaired, and he's taking off for Texas. Right now. Which means he should get to Las Cruces, New Mexico at...1:00am?? The usual motherly nagging/warnings/concerns emit from me, and Brandon reassures me that all will be JUST FINE, MOM.


"Can you drive?" "Are you SOBER?" "Are you SURE?"


He actually sounds just fine, and HAS sounded fine the whole time he's been there, so why am I worrying about this right now? I hang up, say a quick prayer for his safety, and go back to preparing dinner. I don't have a good feeling about this.



A few hours later, another phone call. Brandon has broken down just past Indio, CA. I'm grateful, at least, that it didn't happen later in the night, out in the middle of literally nowhere. He decides to pass the time waiting for Triple A by checking out the stars and seeing how many constellations he remembers. I envision convicted escaped felons patrolling the desert, looking for the vulnerable and broken-down traveller. I just know they are armed and dangerous. I can see them in my mind - complete with missing teeth and oh yes, menacing tattoos. I pray some more. I text Brandon a few warnings and then text something mundane about how Triple A will take the car to a Triple A approved shop and then get him to a safe hotel. He texts me back:


"I was going to take the car to a chop shop run by meth heads and then sleep outside in the Salton Sea, but your idea sounds pretty good instead, Mom."



I can't stop snickering at the depiction...and realize I'm going overboard with the text warnings. I leave the phone (and Brandon) alone for a while. He updates me with a text an hour or so later telling me he's at an hotel that has something to do with an Indian casino. I text him "Don't gamble it all away" and receive from him:

"I'll only gamble enough to pay for the heroin and hookers."

How can you not love this kid's sense of humor? Knowing he's kidding (I think?), my mind is slightly more at ease. It's Friday night, and the car will be looked at in the morning. Hopefully he can be back on the road tomorrow afternoon, and make it to Las Cruces at a semi-decent hour (for a night person).



Famous last words! The car needs a special part that won't be available until Monday morning, because of course, this particular part cannot be found in Indio. Poor Brandon is stuck at a Holiday Inn Express in the cultural and social mecca of the Southwest - beautiful Indio, California. He texts me the news that there isn't a convenience store within walking distance and he'll have to take a cab to go buy toothpaste.


The weekend passes by (quite slowly for the stranded traveller, I'm certain) and he's on the road, FINALLY. I reserve and pay for a room in Las Cruces, New Mexico. This is the second time I've gotten to reserve AND pay for this room! I'm really, really hoping he makes it there this time, as my MasterCard is nearly maxed out. He's paying for his own gas, room in Indio, and car repairs, which I KNOW are going to be in the high hundreds. Plus he just had the engine rebuilt before leaving on this trip, to the tune of several thousand dollars. Actually, this car must have cost approximately SEVEN thousand dollars to repair prior to the trip, since both Brandon and his father (my ex-husband) are swearing that they each paid for the car repairs by themself, "out of my OWN account!" I don't know who to believe, as usual. This is quite an expensive late 90's Audi. Remind me to never buy one.


Long story short..no further incidents, and as I'm walking the two smaller Girls at 9pm, I see a black car streak down the main artery of our neighborhood. The speed limit is 30 mph, and I note, with a sigh, that I get to reiterate that fact to Brandon when I get back from walking The Girls. That is, if a Texas law-and-order police officer doesn't introduce Brandon to the Austin Municipal Court system first.

Twilight Purgatory

It's not TOO bad; really, it isn't. I'm at a Borders bookstore, ostensibly after-hours, trying to remain on the very outer edge of a high-energy crowd consisting mostly of teenagers and young adults - pretty much all female, dressed in varying outfits depicting the Twilight characters and/or sporting vampire teeth. There are LOTS of vampire teeth here tonight. Knowing the event would consist primarily of vampire and werewolf-loving females, Becca tried her best to convince Brandon to come with her, especially since he sort of resembles the lead vampire love-interest, Edward Cullen. Even telling him repeatedly that he'd have plenty of girls after him due to his blond vampire-resembling good looks failed to deter him from his trip back to LA. Purpose of the trip being to drive his car across three states, (and yes, it blows up! Details to follow, in a post coming soon!) so that he would have his own car here and not have to share hers any longer. So, Becca is here with me, her semi-reluctant chauffeur.



I normally am quite enthusiastic about sharing my daughter's interests. As a true test of motherly love, I even overcame my innate fear of horses (big! unpredictable! and don't roll those huge eyes at me and snort!) for a time last summer and learned to ride her enormous dapple gray. I didn't really enjoy it all that much, but I did it to have some working knowledge regarding one of the most important things in her life. And hey, it doesn't hurt to face one's fears now and then.



I just couldn't get into Harry Potter (please shoot me now, it doesn't hold my interest and therefore, I CANNOT keep track of all those characters and plot twists); and I'm thinking this will be a similar situation. Becca is in costume, of course. The splint and crutches lend themselves quite nicely to a plot development in the Twilight series - the main character, Bella, breaks her leg at the end of the first book. Becca/Bella is wearing a blue layered dressy dress, suitable for a dance, with a cream floral embroidered jacket, complete with splint, crutches, and black orthopedic boot. When she walked into the bookstore, there were whispered exclamations of "Bella!" and several people approached her to compliment her on her costume. It's quite a festive atmosphere, vampire teeth nonwithstanding.



This seems to be the cultural Event of the Season! There are young females crowded around a Twilight trivia game, "Team Edward" and "Team Jacob" (whoever they are) shirts on at least one-third of the attendees, and Bella-prom and Bella-wedding dresses waft by. I notice clots of fake blood spattered here and there on various people. I have a moment of maternal pride as I note that no one else is the Bella-with-a-broken-leg persona. Excellent job, Becca! Borders employees dressed up in vampire-esque (or werewolf-esque!) attire hand out stickers and promotional material as rewards for correct answers to trivia questions or clever costumes. There is a good representation here of adult females whom, according to their T-shirts, are "Twilight Moms". Hmmm.



Becca, in pain medication-fueled euphoria over the fact that I get to attend this gathering with her, has suggested I become a "Twilight Mom" once or twice over the last few days. I have no idea what a Twilight Mom IS, and I'm reluctant to commit myself. I imagine that it's a mother of a younger Twilight fan, maybe junior-high age (as a group that exact age catagory run past me, shrieking and giggling) that dutifully pre-reads everything her daughter lays eyes on. A Good Twilight Mom would only give approval to what she has already read and approved of. (I used to do this! There are entire paragraphs of a paperback copy of "Ice Castles" blacked out with a Sharpie somewhere in the garage. The ice skating coach used questionable language.) Is this what a Twilight Mom does?



I feel a nudge at my elbow. "How did you like the last book?" I turn, and a woman my age wearing a Twilight Mom t-shirt is speaking to ME! "Um, I'm here with my daughter, and I haven't read any of the books...yet." I feel mildly like a fool, (but not TOO much like a fool, considering *I* am not wearing vampire fangs like some people present) and smile sheepishly . Becca appears and shoves a thick, heavy book into my hands. "Bought this for you, Mom, it will keep you occupied for a while." The book is black, shiny, and titled "Twilight"; it's the first book in this series. Grateful for any excuse to remove myself from the fanged festivities, I look for a reading chair on the outskirts of the melee, and sink into it. I resignedly open the front page of the book, and......I'm SUCKED IN.



(Is that a poor choice of words, considering we're talking about a vampire story? I truly didn't mean it to sound that way.) I didn't WANT to like it, but having gone through a vampire-loving phase myself back in the day (Dark Shadows, anyone? Pre-Falcon Crest Quentin...mmmHMMM), I was actually enjoying this story of a human girl and her involvement with an atypical, friendly neighborhood vampire. Forty five minutes later, unable to put the book down, I looked around me...no wonder there were wall-to-wall people waiting for this new release. AND it's the fourth book in the series - I hold the first in my hands! Ooooh, three more to look forward to! That fact alone thrills me! There's pretty much nothing I like better than to bury myself in a good book, so happily I go back to Volume One.



Thank you, Rebecca, for dragging me to the Twilight release party! Oh, and congratulations - while I was being swept away (and sucked into) the book, at the periphery of my conciousness I was aware of a crowd at the center of the store and vaguely heard the words "costume contest". Becks won first prize in the costume contest, largely due to her cleverly working her costume around the broken-leg theme. She's beaming, her prize - a large promotional tote bulging with goodies, that announces "Peace, Love, and Vampires" in huge script - is slung over her shoulder as she balances on her crutches. In spite of my initial reticence, we both had a *great* time, after all!

And I can't wait to get home and continue reading this book!

I get to attend the "Twilight" Release?? Oh, overwhelming joy.

Both Rebecca and Brandon have an excellent work ethic, and each of them hold down a couple of jobs. After all, their main objective while living at the Home Base is to work and save up some serious cash prior to returning to school. Recently, while she was at work as a server at a popular Tex-Mex restaurant, Rebecca fell down a short flight of stairs, carrying a tray full of drinks and injuring her ankle. Badly. She was in tears from the pain, and this girl is a tough cookie with a rather high pain tolerance. She rode hunter-jumper horses for years; so falls, injuries, and broken bones are nothing new to her. She was also miffed that the tray full of drinks was for a table full of Hot Guys who happened to also be Red Sox fans, and she'd been bantering with them and enjoying her evening before the fall. Jack and I were at the dog park and received her teary phone call, so we loaded all three Girls back into the car (whilst receiving several confused/irritated looks from the Girls) and drove down the highway to get Rebecca.



Several hours later, after leaving the ER with a splint, crutches, and pain medication, with a diagnosis of "a severe sprain, torn ligaments, and a possible fracture"; Becca was giddy from the pain medication...giggling and starting to flirt with the cute young doctor, and so we hustled her out of there. It was 1:00 am and we nearly ran over a juvenile armadillo (SO CUTE!) as he crossed the hospital parkway in front of our car. (I still want an armadillo for a pet, but according to "ArmadilloOnline!" they carry leprosy. Risk of transmission is low, with the exception of ingesting undercooked armadillo meat - not likely, but still, not a good scenario. ) As we drove her home, I mused that she wouldn't be able to drive with that injured ankle. Then it hit me:



Guess who gets to drive her around for the next few weeks?



Okay, mother-daughter bonding is a good thing, we have a lot of fun together, and I'm off work right now anyway, due to some minor foot surgery. (But honestly now, did we have to get matching big black orthopedic boots? Mine is for the left, hers is for the right, and we have the beginnings of an awesome Frankenstein costume for Halloween this year! This Summer 2008 Orthopedic Boot model is so fabulous, it even has a button in front that lets you pump it up with air for additional ankle support!)



And her activities...one thing she's been looking forward to is the release of the latest book in the "Twilight" series. I have no idea what these stories in the series are about, but I have a feeling I won't be in the dark for long. Apparently there is a release party planned at one of the bookstores in town. She's had her costume planned for this event, but now, from the back seat, I hear slurred speech from Becca discussing how "Now we get to go to the Twilight release party together, Mom!" (Would she be that excited about going with her mother if she wasn't currently under the influence of Oxycontin?) She's also debating the pros and cons of changing her planned costume to accomodate her injured leg. (Why, I ask you!? She's already GOT a costume planned! Obviously, I truly do not get the importance of dressing up in character.) I'm giggling at her slurred words as the memories begin to swirl to the forefront of my brain...waiting in line forever at a bookstore surrounded by people dressed as characters from the Harry Potter books (have I died and gone to Purgatory?)...remembering how, above all, I detest waiting in line for something I can buy the next day with no wait whatsoever; be it Star Wars tickets, Ricky Martin concert tickets, or the latest Harry Potter tome.



THIS is where I'd hand her off to her father, he *never* minds waiting in line for this kind of thing! He has gladly waited HOURS in line with her for the aforementioned Star Wars and Ricky Martin tickets, back in the day! He has accompanied her to each and every Harry Potter book AND movie release! They've had many a good time at such events over the years. Alas, the man is three and a half states away from where we live now, and as much as he loves her, I sincerely doubt that he'd alter his plans and fly out here on the spur of the moment (no doubt missing some important political-type dinner engagement) to attend a book release this coming Friday.



So...I guess it's me.



(To be continued)

Privacy, then and now.

In my past life, I was an open book. Always WAY too eager to tell all, to explain every little detail so that my (unfortunate) listener would have "the whole picture". I prided myself on having no secrets. My attitude was "If I have nothing secret, nothing to hide, then no one can use it against me."


I'd like to think that I'm a little older and wiser now. (Older, to be sure. Wiser - sometimes?) Plus, I have the privacy of others to be concerned with; namely, my family. I don't want my children to be Googled in ten years and be passed over for a promotion due to some young-adult-returning-home-unclear-over-boundaries skirmish. I don't want their prospective dates checking them out on the Web and reading about their mother scolding them for getting a tattoo. Or leaving their underwear in the washer for three days straight. Or not putting away their dirty dishes into the dishwasher (Brandon, that cereal bowl is YOURS, we all know it. Deal with it. And thank you.)



Against my regular penchant for complete honesty, I've changed names, identifying details, and locations; all to protect the innocent. I'm not THAT hard to track down, should you find the need to. But I'd like to make it just a wee bit difficult, for those that have nothing better to do than stalk and harrass. I want to have fun and share our stories with everyone, but not expose the kids to the point of being uncomfortable, or embarassed that their mother shared Personal Details with the Entire World. On the INTERNET!!!



One very good reason for my initial euphoria at having the kids back is that I feel I need to make up for some earlier family dysfunction during their late teenage years. I'd rather not go into all the reasons here, but suffice it to say that I made some bad decisions, unwise choices, and those not only affected me, but both Brandon and Rebecca as well. They had been living with their father since age 16-17. I missed them dreadfully, and though I saw them often, it wasn't the same as having them live with ME. So now - here's my chance to make up some of the time we missed back then, create some good memories; and I think I can share some of what we're going through without thoroughly embarassing them, today or in the future.

They came home with WHAT???

I don't even know what to say. (Words do not usually fail me, in fact, I have been speechless only twice before in my entire life - the last time being when their stepfather Jack proposed to me in 2002. That was a "good" speechless moment, this is not.)



I stand there, my speechless state continuing longer than I want it to, and am obviously dismayed. They are both smirking sheepishly. (Is it a bad thing that my first instinct is to backhand them both? And no, I have never done that. I've made plenty of mistakes parenting, but physical abuse has not been one of them.) I first look at Rebecca's new "artwork". Thankfully it's in a place that is usually covered by clothing, and will most likely only be seen at the beach. Small, tasteful script; a short phrase in Italian. Well, that makes sense, she is definitely part Italian - my doing. But still.



Brandon, however, is another matter entirely.




"Vice" and "Virtue"....in Latin?!? (My subconscious gives a nod of approval to the fact that he at least decided to use Latin, though I promptly squelch the urge to smile.) "..on your FOREARMS??"

Visions of a 45-year-old Brandon trying to hide the larger-than-life markings on his body while maintaining as a corporate CEO make me start to laugh, a reaction I definitely do not want them to see. Why is it that laughter shows up at the most inopportune times? I am MAD. I did *not* raise them like this! All of their lives they have heard "No Tattoos" right up there along with "No Drugs" (I promise to leave you there in jail!) "No Sex" (lengthy hour-long medically *and* legally substantiated lecture ensuing..it's difficult when your parents consist of a nurse and attorney.) "Do Well in School", et al.



"Didn't that HURT?" I ask them both. I examine the markings, noting the raised, darkened tissue. It looks a lot like gangrene to my tattoo-inexperienced eyes. (The inner nurse is emerging, take care of medical issues FIRST!) "Should you put an antibiotic ointment on it? Should it be covered? How are you going to deal with it at work while it's healing??"



Wait..I'm still MAD. Deep breath to center myself, and try to remain calm. "*WHY* DID YOU TWO DO THIS??? Did you think this through? How is it going to look when you're 40 and have a family and career? I should have known something was up, the way you wanted to get rid of us earlier! I cannot BELIEVE you would DO this!" I am *not* calm.



Rebecca slinks away to the kitchen, thankful that my anger is focused momentarily on her brother. "Mom, I've been wanting to do this since I was 18. I've thought about it for four years and designed it myself." Egad. I look at him incredulously. I should congratulate him? I shake my head, still stunned. "You DO know that this is permanent, correct?"



Brandon begins to crack up. "NO, Mother, they didn't tell us THAT! You mean...you mean to say it DOESN'T WASH OFF?" Becca has re-emerged from the kitchen, joining in. "You mean...It's PERMANENT? Oh NOES, what will we do?!?" All three of us are laughing, but I am still MAD.



"YES, we know it's permanent!" Words, sentences tumble over each other as they both try to convince me about how they've "thought this over". And I do remember various conversations here and there, where they would bring it up, and each time their father and/or I gave them the veto. I thought that was successful, until tonight. I'm still stunned.



"You both know I AM NOT HAPPY about this. I'm too tired to deal with this right now, we'll talk in the morning."



Dejected and defeated, I crawl back into bed. Jack has remained asleep throughout. How is that that men can sleep through anything? I lay in bed, sleepless, tears running down my face.

What..you don't need my approval??

Having three dogs and being temporarily unable to walk them due to some minor foot surgery means taking said dogs to the dog park several times a week to preserve sanity (theirs and ours). Since all names have been changed to protect the innocent, I might as well change the dogs' names too...hence, celebrity names that evoke their personalities.

Paris (as in Hilton): Our diva dog..a Bichon Frise, mildly superficial, quite pretty, high maintenance.

Miley: The baby of the family, cute as, well, Hannah Montana (though I am definitely not a fan of HM).

Kate(as in Winslet): Our Aussie, beautiful, intelligent, hardworking, and earnest. Hyperactive as well, but settling down, from a puppyhood best described as "hell on wheels". There is light at the end of this particular tunnel, apparently.

The dog park was created FOR Kate. She needs to run! She needs to be free! She needs to play rough and tumble with the other dogs, and believe me, she is Miss Popular. Kate is primarily my husband Jack's dog. (I have never had a dog like this - and never will again.) After dinner, she knows it's time to pack up and head for the dog park, and she eagerly waits at the door. She is the most intelligent of the three, as well as the leader, and soon the other two are literally underfoot, dogging our heels *cringe*.

I invite Rebecca and Brandon to come along, as I always do. They have both put in appearances there, our friends know them, and a fun time is generally had by all. (Is it sad that the dog park is the main social outlet for us as a couple?) Tonight, however, the kids decline.

"Mom...Becca and I might need to hang out, well, without YOU two always around."

Oh..well, OK! It's date night at the dog park! Jack and I pack up all three of The Girls, and off we go. Carefree evening ensues, all dogs have a blast, and we enjoy our evening, talking with our good friends that we've met there.

We return to the house, and the kids aren't home. Well, I'm glad they went out..after all, we live in Austin and they might as well be out having fun. They most likely went downtown to the clubs on 6th Street. I text them to let them know we're home, and to kinda-sorta find out what's going on. (Texting is a labor of love, I hate it, it takes me forever, but they sometimes they prefer that to an actual phone call. And I know that an innocuous inquiry as to what time they might be home will be better received as a text.)

Jack and I go to sleep, and I hear them come in around 1am. I go downstairs to say hello and goodnight(can you tell this is still a novelty for me?). Smiling, I approach the lights of my life to hug them.

THUD....that was my heart..stopping, and then, once it re-started, sinking.

Both of them have come home with...TATTOOS!!!

(to be continued)

Reaallly trying not to helicopter-parent.

We SHOULD be able to work this out, you think?



Rebecca is rather...terrritorial, shall we say. She always has been, always will be. (Smirk in the general direction of my one-day future son-in-law, whoever he may be since he hasn't appeared yet, and that's fine with all involved. Don't worry, pal, she can be a little difficult, but she's well worth the effort.) "I don't want to share my bathroom! I don't want to share my car! I don't want to share my LIFE!"



Well, too bad, dear. For the next three weeks, your brother is going to need a car to get to work and the two of you can work this out. At the end of the month, he's flying back to LA and driving his car out to where we all live, since he has decided to extend his visit. But for now, yes, he will be sharing your car.



"I don't want him smoking in MY car!"



We don't want him smoking, period, but that's another post, another day.



"He has to buy his own gas"!



Yes, and he does.



"Snarlsnarlsnarl, sharingmybathroom-wet towelseverywhere, mycar-mycar,mycar!!, mylifeisRUINEDsnarl!!!"

And of course Brandon retailates with a well-timed, equally articulate verbal assault.



I'd love to send them to their rooms, and I just might. Shades of when they were around ten years old, when the sibling rivalry peaked. I hated the bickering and fighting back then, and hate it even more now. I try to mediate, to run interference, but it doesn't help matters very much. A calendar with everyone's work schedule in different colored ink (blue for him, red for her) goes up on the refrigerator. It gets duly noted, questioned, and argued over.



Fortunately, after a few days of this, the situation resolves itself (for the most part). I went to bed early one evening, they stayed up (because no one cool goes to bed at 10:30, right?) uncorked a bottle of wine, and sat at the kitchen table and talked things out.



They DO enjoy each other, and have a lot of fun together. And...Brandon will have his car here soon.

First one, now two!

We are officially a "Boomerang" household now. I have been told this by my two young adult (twenty-something, a year and a half apart) children. Until they decided to inform me of this, I was blissfully unaware of this term, just happy that they both wanted to live at home with us for a while and baking chocolate chip banana bread for them until they cried "Stop! We're getting fat!"



(If this were the cooking/baking blog I have dreamed about writing, that recipe would be inserted here. Trust me, you'd love it.)



I had become accustomed to both of them living away at college until last fall, when my daughter Rebecca decided to come home. Having her here with us has been wonderful, tons of fun, and occasionally trying at times. We are supportive of her being here, and know it's been the best decision for her. In June, my son Brandon was flying out for a visit, and after I confirmed his flight arrival with him in the morning, I got a phone call from him an hour later. "Hey, I'm bringing all my stuff, and staying with you guys for the rest of the summer, K?



Well (very brief caught-off guard moment here) YES! Come home! Love having him here, he's great fun, and it will be good for his sister not to be the only person under 45 in the household (not counting the dogs). Plus, I think it will be good for his well-being to be here with us. (Hint: Our home is not a frat house.) He'll have a roof over his head, three meals a day, A/C, and live in a city that's especially fun for young adults. (Yes, I've been worried about him, stories of his couch-surfing and living on day-old pastries from the coffee ship where he worked have gotten back to me. Not to mention the partying in the aforementioned frat house.) I know he's been working hard out in LA, and want to give him a break from the stress of making rent, worrying about his car breaking down, and not having money for groceries.



I can't stop smiling - to have them both home and not worry about them is a mom's fondest wish. I've dusted off my dilapidated quasi-French Country recipe box from the mid-80s and started cooking all their favorites again. And in the process, learned about a couple of dishes they secretly hated all those years, as well.



(Insert Tuna Boboli recipe here.)