Dear Diary,
I’m on Day Eight in The House Estrogen Built. While I spend the daylight hours across town ripping down hideous curtains and laying floor tile, I return to my sister-in-law’s welcoming, female dominated home. There should be Greek letters above the door.
It started out as an end of summer Mom and Kids trip to see family in Ohio… with the goal of helping Uncle Tommy renovate his new house. My daughter opted out early she couldn’t leave her horse.
Fine. It’d be the perfect Mother-Son bonding time. I’d let him drive my new car on the interstate. Maybe. I’d even share my sacred Road Trip Twizzlers with him. “Mawwwm! I haven’t seen Daven all summer and we still have to organize this year’s sailing team!”
“Didn’t you want to spend time with Uncle Tommy?”
“Yeah but I can do that next time he comes to our house. I already talked to him and he said it’s no big deal.”
That left the dogs. Hank snored on the couch. Nugget balanced on her hind legs, panting and whapping her tail against her water bowl. “Fine, you can come, but I’m not sharing my Twizzlers with you.”
I arrived here with at least seven pair of underwear. Now I can only find one. I also tossed my own clothes into the trunk, yet I sit here wearing someone’s hand me down PE shorts, my niece’s T-shirt and hair accessories, and amazingly, my own shoes. Probably because I have the smallest feet of this whole crazy lot. My niece just walked in wearing my shorts and top. I’m not asking about her underwear.
Currently crammed into this pseudo-sorority house are two moms, 15- and 14-year-old sisters, three dogs and a hamster. And a lone 17-year-old boy. True to the rules of Teendom, there are an undocumented number of extra teenagers in the house. Girls always outnumber guys not just because of the genetically related residents, but because my hunky nephew always has a gaggle of adoring girls following him around.
Earlier, one of the incoming phone calls was actually for me. Between five cell phones and one land line, someone is always chatting sometimes with the person in the next room. My childhood friend asked, “You’ve been gone over a week? Aren’t you homesick?”
I cradled the phone on my shoulder while stirring sauce for dinner and rehashed my day starting at 7AM driving one kid to volleyball practice, another to weight-lifting and another to a friend’s house. Then picking up assorted kids at assorted places at assorted times with assorted extra teenagers in tow. Took nephew out shopping for a bed, niece shopping for volleyball team supplies, bought pet supplies, books for procrastinating kids’ last-minute summer reading, groceries, and folded laundry in between each run in and out of the driveway.
“Homesick? Uh, no. Hey, what are you doing after dinner? Wanna go shopping for underwear?”
Karen Rinehart is a syndicated newspaper columnist, public speaker, and creator of The Bus Stop Mommies™. Her book, Invisible Underwear, Bus Stop Mommies and Other Things True To Life, is a popular read in book clubs, school pick up lines, and soccer fields. She enjoys hearing from readers across the States and as far away as Australia, Japan, and England. You can read more at BusStopMommies.com. Karen lives in North Carolina with her two kids, two dogs, and one husband, where they attend St. James Catholic Church. (Well, they leave the dogs at home.)