I am a mom, an ex-wife, a mom again, an ex-wife again, an ordained minister, a dog owner, a lady friend (that’s what you get called when you’re my age), and things don’t look too good for me becoming a wife again. It doesn’t look as though corporate (“corporate” being Jersey Mike, my gentleman friend) wants to fill that position (“fill that position” meaning “get married after the first wife put him through the proverbial wringer”). Becoming a wife again would also add “step-mom” to my resumé, but again, “corporate” has a hiring freeze on right now.
I might also be able to add “mother-in-law” to my list of “positions held.” My oldest son, Young Skywalker, moved from his bedroom to Omaha freakin’ Nebraska three days past his 18th birthday (which was 3 years ago), unbeknownst to me until I tracked his ass down four days later. Young Skywalker met a young lady online a few years prior, and the two of them planned this trip for months. Real long story short – they’re still together, and incredibly happy. What scares/worries/
surprises/doesn't surprise me is that she looks amazingly like me when I was in high school, and we share the same first name. Please, no “Old Christine, New Christine” jokes; I’ve heard enough of them to last a lifetime.
Grasshopper is still at home with me, getting ready to start his sophomore year of high school this coming fall. Hmmm, that’s about the same time Young Skywalker started to voice his feelings about not wanting to stay in New Jersey. Hey, nobody wants to stay in New Jersey. Grasshopper hates school (typical), claims he doesn’t like girls (yeah, right), and loves his XBox360 (a little too much if you ask me; I think he’s learning rude language from some of the games. Why is it that boys, once they verbalize that first curse word, just can’t seem to say it loudly, or often, enough? At least he keeps it to the confines of his room. I’d rather hear him curse out a game than discover he has a hit list in his dresser drawer.)
Sometimes I need to be reminded of what I was talking or writing about. My thoughts tend to wander, and if I’m not careful, my god, did you see what that guy just did? I can be off on a totally different subject in the blink of an eye. I think it’s because I have a lot to say, and my brain just can’t keep up with all of the thoughts; it needs an intermission every now and then.
I really wish I would have kept a diary when I was a kid, because memories are coming back to me now that would be hilarious if I could remember a few more of the details. My therapist calls them “repressed memories” and that if I could give him a few more names, he might be able to present my case to the District Attorney. Anyway, I started to write about some of those memories, and hopefully will be able to post some of them here, providing I can get signed waivers from all innocent parties.
Send me a note once in a while and let me know how I’m doing. I’d love to include it in the package I’m sending to Letterman’s head writer. With a bunch of kudos attached to his most recent rejection letter, and a court order dismissing his restraining order, maybe, just maybe, he’ll think about giving me another chance.
- Christine
