I feel like I spend half my day wandering around like the Wendy’s lady.  You remember the old gal.  Clad in polyester, oversized vinyl handbag perched on her arm ready to whap anyone who steps out of place, she peeks over her glasses and the counter ordering a hamburger.  When a tray with a tiny little burger slides in front of her, she yells at the guy, “Where’s the beef??!!”

(If you’re wondering what the heck I’m blabbering about… we don’t need to talk age.)

Instead of beef, I find myself, way to often, running around like a chicken with my head cut off, late, half the gang in the car, half screaming at me to help. I’m yelling …

“Where’s your shoes??!!”
“Where’s my keys?!!”
“Where’s the remote?!!”

(I can’t tell you how many times we’ve just left the t.v. on b/c that thing is NOWHERE to be found.  Only for our dad to arrive home early and find the tube blaring.  … That’s not his favorite thing.  He doesn’t like when I forget to lock the door either.  In my defense, it goes back to that second “where”)

“Where’s Jack?!!”
Where are your shoes??!! … Forget it.  Just go barefoot.”
“Where’s my cute girlish figure?” … Oh, I misplaced that 2 pregnancies ago.  Will it ever come back? … Don’t lie to me.
“Where’s my phone?!!
“Where’s MY shoes?”
“Where’s my money?”  Didn’t I just go to the bank?
“Come on you guys … where’s Jack”
…. “I right here, Mommy!”

(We’re working on learning that Hide & Seek isn’t always the best game.  Especially in a parking lot.)

“Where’s my coffee?”
“Where’s Great Harvest Bread Company?”  I miss you Honey Whole Wheat.  Yummy Cinamonburst – our breakfast just isn’t the same without you.
“Where’s my Wallstreet Journal?”  Oh, yeah.  You got the boot several years ago – replaced by Martha Stewart & Southern Living.
“Where’s my brain?”  Did I donate all my brain cells during childbirth?
“Where’s me?!!”

Sometimes I wonder where I went.  Am I still in there somewhere?

Yesterday, Teen Take-Out took a picture of me with his new phone.  It was a beauty.  A real keeper. I wondered, “Is that me?!!”  It looked like a mug shot that might show up on the cover of National Enquirer with some caption like, “Look Who’s Let Herself Go”, or  “Alien Takes Over Dallas Mom”, or “Mom Born in 1965 Actually 90!”.  It wasn’t attractive.

“Wow.” I said as he showed me my rather disturbing profile.  He was laughing.  “I never realized how unattractive I am.”
“Mom!” he retorted.  “Really good looking people can look bad in photos.  The other day when we were driving home from Branson, I stopped Lord of the Rings on a frame.  You should have seen Orlando Bloom.  He looked sick!”

How unbelievably sweet.  He compared me to Orlando Bloom.  He thinks I’m pretty.  I was hoping he still thought so.  And what a kind word of encouragement.  If Orlando Bloom can look bad, I guess it’s okay that I did too.

I’m glad X-Box is gone.  TTO is fun to be with.  …..Most of the time.

Thanks for walking the road with me.

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