The radio

She used to blast Jackson Browne on the 4 watt speakers in the car we had to use a seatbelt to hold the door closed.  In her own world, I don't know what or who she was thinking about; but, I remember more words to Running on Empty than I do to Mary had a Little Lamb.

So at the last stop light before Home Depot, when we were flipping through the radio, my mother jumped in the car with us.  It's funny how the simple melody of a song I haven't heard since I could drive so far away could make me a confused kid again.  My mother, the biggest mystery in my life.  I could only listen for a verse or two.  By the time the chorus had repeated twice, I could feel the quiet panic setting in.  Pulling into the parking lot, my hands were shaking.  What was wrong on those days?  Why was she always so.... not just sad or angry or melancholy, but all of those things at once?

The girls in my car might have wondered the same thing sometimes.  What songs will they remember me disappearing into?  Which station will leave them unsteady on a Saturday afternoon errand run?  Will they also remember the mornings we blasted Beastie Boys and car danced through the drop-off line at school?  Will they forget how we always, always, always throw our hands in the air when the song demands it?  And, will we ever learn the words to every Macklemore song?

All I know for sure is that my mother had a soundtrack that only she could illustrate.

I couldn't tell you if it was heartbreaking or healing for her on those car rides.  I can only say that, last Saturday afternoon, she sat beside me in a life she's never seen.  Still as lost as she ever was.  And, amid my own quiet happiness, I was a broken little kid again.  This time, though, I could just change the station.

Two guys walk into a bar

No, really.  They did.  

First, the cute one.  I saw him come in as we were watching the game.  With his hat pulled low over his eyes, the emphasis was on his perfect mouth.  He was maybe 21 and full of the confidence that comes with being that young.  The hostess brought him to the booth next to ours and, being the curious person I am, I was interested to see who would join him.

The second one came in completely unnoticed a few minutes later.  Just an average looking guy that no one, and I do mean no one paid any attention.  

The game was a good one and the friends around were fun, so I forgot about our next booth neighbors until a quiet moment in the action allowed their conversation to leak into my ears.

And, I was hooked.

Cute One's girlfriend is newly pregnant.  He seemed to have the unsure happiness that can only come from being that young and newly burdened with responsibility that may prove to be too much for those broad shoulders of his.  He wanted to talk to his friend about his job and general things that showed he was trying to grow into his big boy britches.  Captain Average wasn't having it.  CA wanted to talk his friend into "banging" the waitress at the bar.  "That's not the dude I know!  The dude I know would've banged anything that would stand still!  C'mon, bro.  She's hot!  Your girl doesn't have to know.  Is she even f@&$ing you anymore?  I bet she's getting big now."  

Cute One was trying to relate.  He was clearly torn between growing up and maintaining his impressive player status with his friend.  "Nah, man.  She's hot, but I can't.  My girl isn't fat, but she isn't skinny either.  When she's not pregnant, she maintains 145."  Side note.... Do not broadcast your woman's weight.  Unless she's a professional wrestler, she doesn't want it to be public knowledge.  Trust me.

This conversation went on for the rest of the game.  Cute One trying to talk about his company being bought out.  Captain Average rating every single backside that walked past.  CO explaining that he couldn't stay to hit on women because he had to go buy some tires.  CA harassing the poor waitress who just wanted to avoid their table.  CO politely asking for more water.  CA trying to smooth talk his way into free shots, but being relegated to the pop he could afford.

It was like a bad Facebook post with a string of comments that ranged from sexist to sleazy to pathetically sad.  

When they finally left, we got our first real look at CA.  Everyone agrees that he couldn't find a willing participant for his almost-definitely subpar 2 minute performance if he paid them.  And, while CO could've had his pick of several, he quietly left to go get his tires and return to his average weighted woman.  The yin and yang of young men today.  

Thank you, Captain.  You gave me a rather terrifying glimpse into what it means to be young, small minded, and desperate.  It was like watching a car wreck minutes before the collision.  You know it's coming and you're so thankful you turned off that road awhile ago.

Oh, and my team won.  RCJH!

19, 25, 15..... No, uh uh, and no effing way.

The dinnertime question tonight inspired quite the exuberant conversation.

"What age do you think is the right one to get married and why?"

Maya's answer came first...

19.  Because then you can find a cute boy and you won't have to be old and still be looking for one.  You can just spend your time looking for a boy and not baby stuff.

While I can't argue her logic of time management and I'm certainly all in favor for not "baby stuff" shopping at nineteen, I can't say I agree with the grab a cute boy and hang on approach.  Everyone over the age of 29 remembers the 19 year old boys they were surrounded with.... and we all avoided those imbeciles when we were 19.  So, let's all have a moment of thankfulness that we didn't marry them, and cross our fingers that my sweet baby girl realizes what a foolish plan this is before she brings that cute boy to my house.

Sofia was next...

25.  Because then you've had a chance to look around and you're not grabbing the first boy you see.  And you're not just having a baby and stuff.

Well, I married her father at 25.  We had already had a baby (her), and I knew I wanted more.  So, I agreed to marry the boy who asked me.... and we had two more babies....and then we, well, you know.  So, again, I appreciate her thought that at the ripe old age of 25, you've had plenty of time to look around.  And, for some people, it is plenty of time.  But, for others, you're still in rush mode, when you really need to be stuck in slo-mo for a few more years.

Finally, Eva says...

15.  Because that's when you're old enough to get the good boy.

Let's all pause for a moment and pray that this child's common sense catches up with her intellect before her mama's quick hand speed catches up with the "good boy" she brings home.  There's not much else I can say about her answer other than "oh.HELL.no."

Mama, what's your answer?

When you're old enough to really know who you are...and that is WAY after 19, 15, or 25.  I was 25 when I married your papi, and I had no idea who I was.  I knew who I wanted to be, but that's not the same.

Obviously, this was a silly conversation and I don't actually expect one of them to come bounding in at 15 engaged to some idiot hormonal boy from algebra class.  Though, I assure you that if one does, that pimple faced gutter-minded jackass will be History and his parents will be choosing a tombstone instead of which vocational academy to ship him off to.  And, it's fun to see how the mind of a six year old views such serious things as choosing a life partner.  And, if she's half as picky about her husband as she is about her rubber band color, it'll be long after her teen years before I have to worry about her wedding dress shopping.  The fact is: one day my girls will probably be wringing their hands trying to figure out how to tell me that they're getting married.  The truth is: no one will ever be good enough.  But, the reality is: it won't be my choice.  

Unless she's 15 then, while it's illegal to get married - I do believe you're still allowed to shoot an intruder.