Reflections in the waves, spark my memories

 

Ghosts of Boyfriend's Past

Oy vey.

The Israeli tank driver who stripped naked to roll in the snow the first time I brought him to meet the folks.

The first love, who now looks like Tommy Lee.

The rabbi, who travels the world teaching Kabbalah (though this is not really him it may as well be).  This was my guide while visiting Israel who took me on donkey rides, to an incredible 90 year old healer, has a daughter named Ahava - "LOVE" and looks like Moses or Jesus but carries a cell phone.  Pretty much the same.

The African American Christian firefighter - when I met his folks for Thanksgiving, Ebony and Ivory came on the radio, no joke.  He ran from any commitment, and is now in Iraq for the second time and has two babies and 3 foster kids.

The Catholic boy who practically made me get down on my hands and knees after a dream he had of his mother giving him guff after our make out session.

The Freeloader

 (Ok, I did not really date Kato, but others just like him.)

Recently I have received a plethera of calls and facebook emails from past boyfriends apologizing for their various behaviors.  It is ironic how those calls come way after you need to hear them.

Anyway, what started me thinking of all of this was the trailer for Ghosts of Girlfriend's Past.

I have decided that I need to write my own version, because that would be some funny freakin' stuff.

I ran away from home today

. . .and, it was WAY better than I imagined.

Perhaps because the last time I ran away, I was 6 years old, and it involved the cops, worried parents and neighbors, and an uneventful conclusion.

It was my brother and fathers fault for not paying attention to me that day, even if it was Super Bowl Sunday.  I was pretty ticked off, so I packed a bag and mapped out my getaway plan.  It was difficult though, since I was not allowed to cross the street.  But given the corner where we lived and technicalities, I could have still gotten pretty far.

Just before I left, I decided to sit in our dark hall closet.  It was a place I often visited when I needed  to talk to G-d and ask advice.  I still have very distinct memories of these conversations that began when I was 3. 

My mother freaked when she got home, seeing the looks on the men's faces when she realized they had no idea where I was.  Lucky for me, by this time, I had fallen asleep and was oblivious to the cops and neighbors just on the other side of the sliding door that were searching everywhere for little old me. 

I had slipped once and let a stranger into my safe confession haven.  She just sat next to me, completely lost at how sitting in a dark closet might be interesting.  Needless to say, I never invited another soul into my safe haven, but I guess everything happens for a reason, because if it was not for her, perhaps my parents would not have found me.

Today, I decided to run away from home again. 

A much needed reprieve to pretend I still have a life of my own. 

A day when I did not have to answer to anyone, or have my kid stalker or husband in tow asking me to cook, clean, do laundry, or bathe them. 

I could follow the day where it lead me, and reinvent myself if I wished.

I drove to a quaint mountain town and roamed around, found a nearby Dairy Queen for an old favorite; an oreo blizzard.

I flirted with a young handsome stranger, made a snow angel, sat at a cafe and tweaked a film treatment for a friend, saw "This is It' reminiscing about different memories and decades in my life, stayed out till after dark, and was completely recharged.

I think I am going to run away from home at least once a month from now on.

Slave Labor

My son is obsessed with all things "Why."

Of course I knew this day would come, and frankly, I love it.

"Mama has to go to work today"

"Why?"

"So I can make some money"

"Why?"

"So I can buy groceries and clothes for us"

And the 'why's' continue until bedtime, but I don't mind because I know his mind is a sponge, and the memory of an elephant.

Today he woke up, grabbed a quarter from his piggy bank and brought it to me while I was making breakfast.

"Mama, can I have some cereal?"

Wow, he did make the connection.

I am so impressed that I run to call his Granny and tell her that she has a brilliant grandson.

Her reaction convinced me that either I am already starting to give my son money issues, or I am running a sweat shop in my own home.

Nice.

My son the flirt

Less interested in the treats, more interested in flirting.  OY!  I am in trouble.