I came home today, crazy, exhausted because it is wednesday, and 57 minutes from checking out and hibernating in the comfort of my bedroom. I showered the Tots, helped with homework, and started on tomorrow's sack lunch. That's when I saw it. A bright red, unopened, bottle of Strawberry Fanta. Oh my goodness. Standing there in the middle of turkey and goldfish, I suddenly was whisked away to 1980 something. I was in the fifth grade, riding to town with momma stopping for the ususal breakfast of virginia slims, pepsi, strawberry fanta and a delicious maple long john donut.
For the record, the pepsi and cigs weren't for me. Those were momma's. I've never put a cigarette to my lips. ever.
As I was standing there in my kitchen, a sadness washed over me. I've had the opportunity to speak of momma more lately for some reason. People ask me if I miss her, I do not. I miss the chance that she could have turned into a real mom... but missing her? no.
You see. Those strawberry fanta mornings weren't because she was a cool mom. It was because she was trying to buy back the love. She was terrible with her fingers, pinching places and making them bleed where she knew people wouldn't easily see. After she calmed down, she would feel guilty (perhaps?) and buy food to make things all better.
It's very hard for me to choke down a maple donut to this day.
There are hundreds of girls today that are in a similar situation. Should one of you read this blog and need to talk, reach out.
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