Monday, January 16, 2012


I'm disgusted with myself.

I'm the first one to mock helicopter mothers who can't let go, but the last one to look away, as I watch my son's tail lights recede in the frosted January twilight.

The lump in my throat has restricted my breathing to the point of a high pitched, flemmy garble when I try to speak. It's embarrassing, and I'm not even hormonal.

And what makes it worse is that I'm not at Disneyland.
Or in Hawaii.
Or driving around in a light blue convertible Jag wearing sunglasses, red lipstick and a scarf tied 'round my brilliant platinum hair.

Yes, THAT is what makes it worse.

And I blame you.

Is it any wonder I miss him so much?


Garden of Egan said...

Poor homely little bugger.

It looks like he could use some home-cookin' You probably oughta bake some cookies for him.

Kay said...

Just wait til your last one leaves if you want withdrawal...but hey, they might boomerang back sometime, so keep those beds made up :o)

Stef said...

With a face like that...who wouldn't be crying.

Meredith said...

So sweet!

Cherie said...

Tauna's comment has me rolling!!
So do you - Oh the pictures you put in my brain make me laugh!

Lisa said...

Cherie, I know, right? Poor homely little bugger reference dried the melancholy right up!

Mimi Sue said...

Takes after the husband I presume?? Mimi