Leftovers and Best Friends

Well, Smart Guy and Henry David were both gone for the evening. Henry David on a guys night out and Smart Guy with 15 teenagers and 4 adults to corral them at a Toby Mac concert in the northern part of the state. Fridays are usually pretty laid back around here anyway, but when Daddy's not around, even more so. I spent probably 2 hours on the phone with Inkling since we were both husbandless, although she finally got off realizing she wasn't getting anything done on the homefront and with her company coming into tomorrow that's not good.

Our conversation covered all kinds of things, family, the good, the bad, and the ugly. The best part was reminiscing(I botched the sp. I know) about the dolls we loved to play with when we were little girls. Of course anyone between the ages of about 25 and 35 probably remembers the Christmas of '83 when Cabbage Patch Kids were the thing to have. People were hurting one another to get them. My mom managed to get two of them, one for me and one for her best-friends' little girl. That was back when they were still packaged in the brown cardboard box with the C.P.K. logo on it and with no clear see thru window. At the time, my slightly hippie parents had an old, red, VW camper complete with pop-up and yes we did camp in it. It was October when they got the CPK so they had to hide it good. They decided to hide it in the compartment under the bench seat in the camper. Problem was, I played house out there quite a bit and found it. I was so excited. I couldn't see what it looked like because of the box, but I didn't care, all I knew was that I had one and didn't have to worry about not getting one because it couldn't be found. I snuck out several times to peak and apparently got caught one time by my mom who was looking out the dining room window, which looks over the driveway. Of course I didn't know this. A few days later we were sitting at Burger Chef ( the location of the world's best fast food, now called Schroeder's, but same food) having dinner when my mom asked my dad, "Did that woman at work get that Christmas present for her daughter out of the camper today?" My heart dropped. I was absolutely crushed, destroyed, and disappointed. I remember getting that doll on Christmas morning and knowing they had tricked me. They said the look on my face after mom asked dad that was priceless. I have very vivid memories of playing with that doll. He was my baby. He was black, bald, had one dimple, his name was (is) Arlo Harold. He's one of the few full size bald CPKs out there, because within a year or two, they started making preemie's and you never saw the bald dolls except preemies. I still have him. I also got two more, their names were Janita Maddie and Roland Owen. I don't know how I still remember their names. Arlo was always my favorite one though. My mom's best-friends daughter got hers for Christmas too. Hers was a red-head named Hubert. We played and played with those silly dolls. They were our babies. I truly loved him.

So, as I'm talking to Inkling I realize it's time to feed my children dinner, so out came the leftovers from last night. I fed everyone while still chatting, cleaned up, and cleared up several sibling conflicts all while talking to Inkling. That's the beauty of having a long-time friend, you can talk on the phone and still do life on your end of the phone. I'm sure Inkling occasionally tires of hearing my children whining for my attention, but I never know if she does. She loves them, in case you can't tell from some of her past posts, they are her Sara Orange Gang. Other than myself and their grandmothers, she's loves them more than any other woman on the planet. My children love to be with her. They miss her right now, they knew when we left last weekend that it was supposed to be their time with her and without Mommy. I've often joked that when we're out with just her, me, and my kids people probably think we're a lesbian couple with children, because you can't tell which one of us is the mom. She was just as likely to take one of them off to change their diaper as I was. She'd cut food, wipe noses, clean faces, correct gently, kiss, and snuggle. I remember one time we were at the mall with both the boys when they were small. We decided to push two strollers instead of the mammoth double stroller. The wheels on one of them weren't working right so we took turns pushing it. Drama King was still really little and I was still getting the knack of nursing in public, (I wasn't able to nurse Prophet due to my being seriously ill at the time), so she patiently waited and kept Prophet busy for me. That was the visit when Prophet thru up an entire can of Pediasure laced with little tiny pieces of polish sausage all over her. If you know anything about Inkling, you know that puke is not her thing. Her own puke makes her puke more. She's dreading the first time she has a stomach bug as a new wife. Amazingly she didn't toss her cookies, but Prophet has been reminded of that many times since. Give the kid a break he was only 18 months old and suffering from reflux as a preemie problem. I will always remember the first time she came to stay with the boys. Smart Guy and I were going to a Christian Music Festival ( like Woodstock without the drugs, booz, and sex). That was their first adventure in brownie baking. The boys were 2 and 3. They were so proud to show me their masterpiece when I got home. It's amazing there were any left, Inkling and I have been known to eat a whole pan in a day or so. Last year, she actually made Bee sleep in her bed at naptime every day for the entire 5 days she was there. Being the youngest of three I got kinda lax about naps when she came along. I didn't care where, so much as it happened somewhere. The middle of the kitchen floor was fine with me. Inkling had her completely trained when I came home. She slept in her bed everyday after that if we were home.

Oh my gosh, I miss her. We've been thru alot together. Sunday school when we were both to shy to hardly talk to one another, rooming together in college and surviving to tell the story, babies born when they shouldn't be, a baby that we never got to know because of a heartbraking miscarriage, dog adoptions, the deaths of 3 grandparents, lost jobs, insane bosses, insane church boards, at least 15 (maybe more, I lost count) moves between the two of us, broken hearts from broken promises of marriage and happiness, and sick grandparents. She's the first person (after my mom) that I wanna tell things to after one of the kids has accomplished something or said something funny. If it weren't for my unlimited phone plan to Canada ( which my husband looked into as soon as she announced her engagement) I'd be lost. Because of that we can talk anytime and not have to worry about the cost. But it's not the same. I've never admitted this to her, but the weekend she got married was quite possibly the most emotions I've ever felt in a small period of time. I was so happy for her, she was getting her dream. Her fairy tale was coming true. All the heartache and years of watching her friends and cousins get married and have babies was over. It was her turn now. She was a beautiful bride, perfect even, there is no other natural beauty to equal her on the planet, although she would argue. I realized something that weekend. I took my best friend for granted. I considered her to be mine. She could always come see me, she always came to visit her grandparents when I went to visit my parents so we could see each other. I was one of the centers of her life. At the moment she said "I do", she was no longer mine only, I had to share her with someone else, who by God's plan had to be more important than myself. She'd had to do that for years with me, I've been married for 12 years, but that whole time, she belonged to me. I never dreamed I would feel that way, but I did, and I'm ashamed of myself for it. Not only did she get married but dangit she had to up and move what seems like half-way around the world. We have never been this long without being together. Even during those few years when we weren't as close, we still saw each other at various visits to my church when she came to visit her grandparents. My life is different because I've known her. She loves me, she believes in me, sometimes I think she sees things in me that aren't actually there. To know her is to be made better. I miss standing in the bathroom door talking to her while she gets ready for her day while visiting me. I was always ready at least 45 minutes before her. My bathroom always smelled like her for days after she left. I liked that. It was like having her with me just a little longer after she left. Well, I didn't intend for this post to go this direction or be so long. I have to admit, I'm jealous of her family for getting to see her. They've seen her since I have (said with the whiney tone of a middle school girl).

Anyway, I love you dearly babe. I can't wait to see you again!!