The Three R’s: Reunions, Reptiles and Revelations
by Bella Rum
My kids are almost in their new place. They will arrive sometime today. They decided to make the trip slow and easy, if that’s possible with three kids. I’m told it takes a few days for a moving company to get all your ‘stuff’ from the middle of the country to the East Coast. Big country. Didn’t you know?
So why not take your time and enjoy the sights? There are some incredible things to see along the way, and we all know it’s the journey, not the destination.
They stopped at Hershey World in Hershey, PA. That’s nice. Right? Then they decided to stop at some reptile farm in God only knows where. The kids loved it, but I’m thinking where’s that CPS #. Those kids need a grandma there. Don’t you get the feeling this is one of those side-of-the-road kind of attractions in the middle of nowhere? Maybe in a rundown, mid-century motel in a vacant lot with scrub growing up through the cracks? Of course, I have no room to talk. Somewhere in the bowels of this place, I have a photo of my son with a huge python wrapped around his slender 8-year-old body. If there was a blurb, the python would be saying, “Yum! What a tasty morsel.”
H and I only had to move once in 37 years for work related reasons – unless you count our last move when he was downsized. Our kids have moved twice in two years. I’m sure they will move again at some point, but I hope it will not be soon. The landscape of their work life is very different from ours and more challenging, I think. Their generation does not work where they live. They live where they work. It’s an entirely different concept.
The other thing I’ve been thinking about? Paul Ryan is a Gen X-er. This revelation (revelation to me) has me reeling, and I wish it had not been pointed out to me. I could have gone a lifetime without realizing that a member of my son’s generation is a presumptive nominee for VP. Ryan is only four years older than my son. Laugh if you must, but this is one of those moments. I used to tear up at all of those predictable milestones: when I had to give his baby clothes away to make room for bigger sizes, his first day of kindergarten, when he left for college, graduation. But this is too much. My son is not old enough to be VP. It can’t be. What would that say about me? Because you know it’s always about me. I cannot be old enough to have given birth to someone old enough to be VP because… I don’t know why, but I just can’t. That’s all.