Saying Goodbye

For the past few weeks, my daughters have been going to a local day camp. They meet the bus daily at a popular park and ride off the highway where many other day camps pick up their campers.

The most amazing thing I find is watching the various mothers put their children on the bus and say goodbye.

There is one lady who works out at the same gym as me. She is perfectly fit, in the tightest black short shorts and black tank you have ever seen. She pulls up in her shiny navy blue mini van. As soon as the bus pulls up, she hops out, shuffles her two boys out of her car and into the bus without so much as a wave goodbye and a backwards glance with a have a great day. She probably doesn't want to be late to her tennis lesson, followed by personal training.

The same bus doesn't pull away so quickly as there is another mom and her daughter saying goodbye for an eternity. This mom is thin, but not fit, her hair pulled back in a long ponytail, with a black stretchy headband pulling her bangs back. After her extended goodbye to her child, she tells the bus to wait, she forgot something. She scampers over to her car and gets the forgotten item and brings it back to the bus. Then stands there and watches the bus pull away. I am amazed at how every single day there can be a forgotten item, perhaps it is staged, I sense major separation issues in the future.

As this bus leaves another one comes, out of this one a cute teenagers hops out and directs the children onto the bus. After the children get on and the bus seems full it waits. About five minutes later a old red Pontiac four door sedan pulls up. A mom with frizzy 80 styled hair in baggy turquoise pants and mismatched shirt slowly gets out, gets her two kids from the back of her car and leisurely saunters over to the bus. All I am thinking, is that how can she be late every single day? How come she doesn't pull right up to the bus? She moves as if she doesn't have a care a in the world, she watches the bus pull away and then quickly pulls out of the lot.

I am enamored by the scene that unfolds each day. So much so that I look forward to drop off time. I can probably go on and on describing each mom down to their footwear, however our bus pulls up.

It is definitely a school bus, obviously an old, un-air-conditioned school bus, yet something is off because it is the not the traditional yellow of a bus but instead it is painted daffodil yellow, an odd bright yellow that reminds me of bananas before they are ripe. It stops, I get out, I am somewhat fit, my hair is somewhat brushed, my outfit somewhat put together. My kids wait for me at the door of the car, I give them big hugs and kisses, walk them to the bus, wait for them to get on, as they get on I wish them a great day and then make sure they have a seat. I walk back to my car and wave as the bus pulls away.

I wonder if anyone even pays attention to us. I am hoping if they do they see a loving mother, who looks somewhat put together, with her well-adjusted children, who wants to make sure her kids are okay and happy before heading off for the rest of the day.

Laundry Last

I think that laundry capabilities skipped two generations in my family.

My grandmother and great-grandmother could fold laundry perfectly. No matter what shape or size the item was it was folded neatly. When you took it out, it looked as though it came out of its original packaging. If you open their linen closets, the sheets and towels are folded perfectly. What a shame that this talent did not pass on to me, nor did it pass on to my mother.

Growing up mom sorted the laundry into piles. Come get your pile she would yell and everyone would come get their pile and shove it into their drawer or onto their shelves. There were at least 11 piles, so I can understand her not wanting to fold each sock, however I also wonder if its because she didn't get that laundry gene.

Tonight when I was folding a dreaded load of laundry I got down on myself. I fail! I cannot fold neatly at all. When I fold a simple flat sheet the corners don't match up. I can't even fold a towel right without to fold and refold three times before I am happy with it. Forget t-shirts, socks, underwear are pretty bad too. The worst are button downs or zip up sweaters. Those, you have to first button or zip and then align all the sides perfectly. I would never be able to get a job at the Gap or Urban Outfitters as my folding skills are sorely lacking.

What I cannot get past however, is that I have been folding laundry for over TEN years and still, it looks as though a ten year old folded everything. From time to time, and actually as I write this, I mean very seldom, does my husband help me fold. He folds beautifully. Everything lines up and the piles stack nicely, its as if the clothing love him and will stand at attention for him. Me, they fight me, they don't like me, we just don't click, I didn't get the laundry gene.

Laundry is last, laundry is last for me, laundry clean or dirty, although I much prefer clean, we just were not meant to be.

P.S. My linen closet is a wonderful, fresh smelling place where my towels and sheets are lined up almost perfectly.

The Hospital

I was actually amazed at the hospital's meals. I was always under the impression that it is a place that helps make people better. As in health-wise better. As in helping people make the best food choices so when they go home they are somewhat wiser, and therefore will become healthier.

However at meal time we were offered, high fructose corn syrup apple juice, corn syrup orange juice, caffeinated coffee. NO vegetables. The fruits were nicely waxed apples and oranges, not quite the freshest you've ever seen either.

I had ordered the Kosher Meals. When given the choices for breakfast, either scrambled eggs with literally freeze dried carrots and peas, or an omelet that looked older than I was, or french toast, with a dark corn syrup dip, that looked as though it would bounce if I threw it on the floor.

I know that the food is outsourced and the hospital can't actually control every aspect of everything, but I really feel that there should be healthier choices. Especially when America is going through a huge weight related, unhealthy eating habit crisis. I wonder if they offer diabetics the same foods they were offering me. I sure hope not.

On another note, the woman that was the "Nutrition counselor" weighed about 350 pounds. She came to tell me the choices of meals and helped me "build my diet" for the few days I was in the hospital. It was quite obvious that she was not at her ideal weight. As she came to my room, first on her route, she was huffing and puffing and sweating as well, from her long walk from the elevator to my room. A large plume of perfume preceded her, smelling of the variety sold at the local CVS. I thought perhaps it as out of the ordinary that this was she, however the next day the counselor that visited came in a close second in the weight department.

I have to say I was very cordial as I feel very deeply for someone struggling with weight, as I have had that challenge as well (on a much smaller scale, I might add), however the absurdity and incongruity of it all made me feel as I if I was having an out of body experience that was both comical and sad.