Homie

I've just returned from a wonderful weekend at Sissy's house in Boston.  Before I continue, I'd like to go on record and mention that my sister's apartment is cozy, spacious and lovely, boasting exposed brick and lots of sunlight.  That said, it just happens to be in kind of a shitty neighborhood.  Good thing she's married to a cop.  (Or the po po, as we sometimes like to refer to him.)

At 6 am this morning, I was enjoying a deep, drool filled, mess your hair up kind of sleep when all of a sudden I heard:

"Police!  Police!  Open up!"

What the?  I turned off the fan by the bed so I could hear better, because I could've sworn I'd just heard a man scream...

"Open up!  Police!"

Yup.  There it was again. 

It seems an early morning raid was being conducted.  Disgruntled and groggy, Sissy and I looked out the window to find a tactical swat team attempting to enter the house next door.  Next door being, of course, about four feet away. 

I nervously peered out the window and then put my glasses on for a better look, since it looked like I'd just seen Darth Vader standing in front of a paddy wagon.  Oh, wait a minute, he wasn't Darth Vader, he was simply a cop wearing full swat gear.  That made more sense. 

"Get back!" I whispered to Sister. 

"Why?  I wanna see!"

"You're eight months pregnant!  I don't want any stray bullets hitting you and my future Godchild!"  I always did have a vivid imagination. 

My brother-in-law later found out what all the fuss had been about.  Apparently the neighbor's son was wanted for armed robbery?  (Guess I should stop complaining about my neighbor who sings all the showtunes, huh?)

We went back to sleep after we'd decided the situation was probably under control.  I mean, the cops were searching under the back porch for guns and all... 

Other than that, the weekend was perfect: a bridal shower for my cousin's fiance, lunch with my college roommate at the very first restaurant we'd gotten boozed at together (we were teenaged Freshmen and she'd ordered a sex on the beach while I'd opted for a bloody mary.  This was before I'd learned this was traditionally a "morning" beverage, of course.)  Then there was quality time with Mom and Dad on Sunday.  I even got to sing a little Karen Carpenter to the Tadpole in my sister's belly.      

The sky was gorgeous as I left Boston.  I knew I shouldn't want to cry.  After all, I'd had a lovely, eventful weekend.  The Red Sox had clinched the division.  I'd seen my Grandmother.  I'd cuddled with my Dad.  My Mother had taken my face in her hands and told me she loved me.  I'd seen my beautiful cousin's very first big girl apartment.   

But the voicemail Sissy left me as I boarded the plane summed it all up: "I miss you already."

Somewhere beyond my adam's apple an old familiar burn started just before the tears came.  And with that, I gave in and cried. 

Nary a tissue in sight, my Sephora black/brown mascara running sloppily down my cheeks, I cried the tears that seem to come every time I leave my family. 

There's something rather freeing about crying in public.  Tonight I couldn't have given two craps really, since the man sitting next to me was also being a bad flier and therefore deserved to sit next to another bad flier.  (He was elbowing me, stepping on my toes, and generally behaving in a manner most terrible.)

I cried because I long for more time with them all.  I ache for more mundane moments to talk, to bicker, to while away the hours watching horrendously painful TV like The Two Corey's.  Also, there's a tiny, persistent part of me that is absolutely terrified I won't be a big enough part of my future Godchild's life.  I try not to think about it, but it sort of gives me the panics.

It's not that the sky wasn't just as beautiful when I arrived back home to NY.  It's not that Kittie wasn't there to greet me at the door, and Hubby soon after, when he got home from work.  It's just...not home.

I refuse to end this post on a weepy note, Dear Reader.  You deserve much better than that.  Here are some pictures I snapped for you of my niece, Trixie, also known as Mew Mew:

   

Mew Mew is a Gemini, loves to cuddle, and much to our chagrin, does not get along with her first cousin, Kittie.  (It breaks their Mother's hearts.)   

I've had a nice weekend, Dear Reader.  I hope you did, too.   

xoxo   

Comments

[Sissy]

We did have a nice weekend...action packed. The SWAT team entry was probably the highlight. Mew Mew says "Meow".

[Amy]

No, we want the LARGE order of cheese fries.

[The Odd Broad]

I'm kind of regretting the decision to not get buffalo wings. Next time.

[Amy]

Hopefully "next time" will be soon!

[Weinerdog]

Oh Thortons!

How I miss it!

I'd kill for a cheese fry!

[Sissy]

I really enjoyed the cheese fries as well. I have to say I was a bit disappointed in the Isabella Gardner salad. Maybe because I have been thinking about eating one for so long. I think I will have to try something else next time. But I still want a LARGE cheese fries, thank you.

PS Mew Mew looks pretty.

[The Odd Broad]

Mew Mew is wicked good looking.