Suburban Goddess

Somebody very close to me made a comment today that hit pretty close to home. I’ve been trying to live life without all the negativity, but 32 years of habit is hard to break.

“You’re a ‘glass half-empty’ person, aren’t you?”

Damn it. And I thought I was doing so much better….

The dealership actually delivered my new ski to work; I had to haul it home all by myself in rush hour traffic. The whole time I’m driving down the Interstate, I’m second-guessing myself; did I get the right size hitch? What was that noise? It’s not strapped down, what if I hit a bump? Will it bounce off? What if I get pulled over? How in the heck am I going to get this thing in the daycare parking lot to pick up Alex? Worse yet, how am I going to get it OUT? And still the million dollar question:

Can I get it safely in my garage?

Sometimes, doubt can be a really bad thing. If you let it take over, it will only lead you down a negative path. I actually had no trouble getting home… I took it easy, (even though I probably contributed a great deal to rush hour road rage by going 60mph in the far right lane) and found a place to drive through the daycare parking lot so I didn’t have to back out.

But then I got home.

There’s a light pole directly to the right of my narrow driveway. I often joke about how I’m going to hit it one day while I’m not paying attention. (Today was not the day I hit it. Let me just clear that image from your mind right now.) But it’s been a considerable amount of time since I’ve driven with a trailer, and I’ve never had the opportunity to BACK ONE UP.

Let’s just say if you lived on my street, today you had a lot of entertainment.

After more than a dozen tries, I ended up driving on my lawn, getting the ski within a few feet of the garage door. However, there is NO WAY it was going in the garage, because it was almost a full 90 perpendicular degrees from where I’d envisioned it sitting. (To my defense, the garage sits perpendicular to the driveway. If it was a straight shot, I’d have no problem getting it in.) For a moment, I sat on the driveway, dejected, feeling very, very alone.

After a few moments of self-pity, I picked myself up. I could do this. I unhooked the trailer, and in a gesture of pure female defiance, I turned the trailer and attempted to push it into the garage.

Again, this would normally not be a problem, but I’m pushing a 700 pound ski on an INCLINE while attempting to gain enough momentum to get it over the half-inch concrete ledge where the garage floor meets the driveway.

I missed.

700 pounds came to a screeching halt, and the tongue of the trailer suddenly became very, very heavy. Using every muscle I’ve ever toned in yoga, I held on and prayed for a momentary burst of strength to keep me from dropping it on my foot. Luckily for me, God was listening. I set it down, took two steps back, and assessed my situation.

1.) Admit defeat and go ask my neighbor to help. No way. If I was going to own this monster, I needed to be able to move it myself.

2.) Hook it back up to my Jeep and try to push it in. Again, no way. There was no way I could back that Jeep close enough to the trailer with my pathetic excuse for depth perception. Last thing I wanted to do is run over my brand-new trailer.

3.) Just push faster.

I know, at this point, that the people watching are definately getting a laugh, watching the redhead cock her head sideways in a t-shirt and high-heeled boots trying to push a very large watercraft UPHILL into her garage while her daughter danced around screaming at the cat like a maniac. (Did I forget to mention that part?) I pulled the ski about four feet away from the ledge, leaned in, and pushed with all my strength…

… as the tires hit the ledge, I imagined my toes being crushed when I dropped the tongue of the trailer. Thankfully, I had enough speed that it bounced easily over the ledge, rolling to a stop exactly where I wanted it to go.

Triumph!

I sat down on the driveway, admiring my new toy as my daughter continued to chase the cat around the garage. (“ROAR, KITTY! ROARRRRRR!”) With a smile, I realized that I had yet again surprised myself.

Who knew I was capable of so many things?

I grew up on the Pearl River, a small tributary that divides Louisiana and Mississippi and empties into the Gulf. I literally grew up across the street from the river; there was a small two-lane highway, the “Main St.” of Pearlington, Mississippi, and then a small marina. (Baxter’s marina. I still remember his name. Despite the fact that the marina was directly across from our home, we never launched there. I’m not quite sure why. I think because there was a free public launch less than a mile away.)

That river was very much a part of my life; we would fish there, camp there, play there… I learned to water ski on that river when I was 5 years old, and shortly after that, all I remember about summer weekends were coolers of Dr. Pepper and Little Debbie snacks. My cousins and I were always on that river.

Somewhere along the way, grown-up life came along, and weekends on the river became a distant memory…. but never forgotten. I love the water and all the nuances of a waterfront lifestyle. Only a fear of flooding keeps me from living on the water (and it’s a healthy fear, having lived through a flooded home). But for years, I’ve wanted to either find a friend with a boat, or get a jetski.

My ex and I had talked about getting one when Alex turned three; actually, I told him we would get one simply because I was tired of him getting all the big toys. But his first wife had turned him off all watersports, leaving a big empty void in my life.

Well, the ex is gone.

I weighed all my options repeatedly. Can I really afford this right now? Do I really need this? And all the answers kept pointing to, WHO CARES? (Honestly, I can afford it, no, I don’t really need it, but I’m sick of saying I’m going to live life and then wait to live it.)

So yesterday, I just made my third major life purchase completely on my own… my own Waverunner. I bought exactly what I wanted with no excuses and no regrets. Suddenly, life is little more colorful, a little more exciting. I can’t wait to share all these new experiences with my daughter, spending time together on the lake and hopefully instilling the same love of water in her that I grew up with.

So now I just have to wait for the weather to warm up. I keep opening the garage door to make sure it’s still there. It is. This isn’t a dream.

Time to live.

“Wow. It’s still red.”

“Yes, I know.”

“I thought it was supposed to fade?”

“It’s only been TWO DAYS.”

“Wow. ’cause it’s still REALLY RED.”

“Ass.”

I spent time with Alex in her room tonight; she wanted to play with her “dolly house,” and I just wanted to be close to her, so I sat on the floor and watched her play. On her bookcase, there is a photograph of me & Chip, a momento I originally almost threw out, but I wanted her to have something with both of us in it where we appeared happy.

The photo was taken by my mother at a small steak house in Slidell. I hated the picture; when I smile too big I’m all gums, and this particular picture was excessively gummy. Chip’s hair was longer, his face scruffy with the familiar red goatee that I grew to love. I usually can’t even bring myself to look at the picture when I’m in her room; it’s from a life that seems like a distant dream now. If there is one thing I’m bitter about in his new relationship, there seem to be a million pictures of him and the new woman; I only know of three that we took together.

As I looked at the picture, I dwelled for one too many moments, and I was suddenly mired in a million sad emotions. What happened to these two people who used to love each other so much? Why wouldn’t this man try to work things out? Why did he have to be so freaking selfish?

A million questions still remain unanswered, and probably always will be. As I looked back at my daughter, I wished I could have done more.

I try so hard not to hate him for how he left us, but some days are more difficult than others.

“Holy crap! Red!”

“I know. It’ll fade out in a few days.”

“That’s like, serious red.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Fire engine red!”

“I KNOW.”

“Mommy, I done!”

“Did you wipe?”

“uhhhh……. uhhhhhhhh…….”

“Go back & wipe.”

“Look, Mommy! Chocolate!”

“DON’T EAT THAT!!!!!”