It was only 60 miles, but i drove The Girl closer to Istanbul last night. She was spending the night with The Boy, and then catching a flight home today.
Yep. It’s her home now. She’s been living there since July. Her bed is there. Most of her friends are there.
The only incentives i offer? A large brown dog and a surly orange cat.
Her dad bought the ticket. Since he’s busy with work and hates travel, it seemed a reasonable solution. She spent a few days with The Boy in the big university town, hanging out with her best gal pal there. The Boy drove them north to visit their dad for a few days.
They arrived at my place last Thursday night. As always, there was an ‘over/under’ bet involved. This time? They bet on Mr. Pickles abilities as a guard dog.
The Girl: How long do you think we’ll be in the house before he wakes up?
The Boy: Two minutes.
The Girl: I’ll take “over”.
The Boy actually won this round, as the sleepy old brown dog shot out of my bed like a rocket as soon as the front door opened. Even the cat went to investigate. The Boy had been chauffeur for the week, driving her where she needed to go. He needed to get back to work. And by then, they’d had more than enough “brother-sister bonding time”.
Four days. We made the most of it…
Friday night was “My Drunk Kitchen” night. The Girl and her best gal pal went with me to a big downtown hipster bash, and we stopped for supplies on the way home. i made “Froot Loop Russians”* while they baked S’more brownies from scratch. It was a good night.
Saturday morning? Off to the local market for crepes, cheese, veggies and people-watching. She got in lots of shopping – access to a car, rather than public transportation, made it far easier for picking up gifts, and essentials.
The Girl: I’m buying America. I need to find things to bring back that are inherently American. Do you think they’d have Busch beer coozies at the gas station? Belt buckle beer bottle openers?
Studley and i took her out to dinner at a Turkish restaurant that night – in case she was missing the cuisine of home. i’d been using my pigeon Turkish on the poor servers at this restaurant since my trip in December, and was excited to show them how cool my daughter was, being comfortably conversant in their native language.
We never stop being proud of our children. Or coming up with new ways to embarrass them…
We stopped at the liquor store on the way back home. Mostly to get more Froot Loop vodka, as she knew she wouldn’t be able to get that in Turkey. Still jazzed from the chance to let her show off her language skills, i continued to brag on her to Studley.
daisyfae: That’s my kid!
Studley: Yup! You made her!
daisyfae: She came out of my vagina.
The Girl: It was a c-section. Technically, out of your stomach.
liquor store clerk: Do you want all this in a bag?
daisyfae: Nah. We’re just going to drink it in the parking lot.
These kids are remarkably tough to embarrass…
We both sort of dreaded it, but Sunday was the visit to The Park. She wanted to see Mom, but it was when i told her that the entire Clampett Clan would be descending upon the ol’ Hibachi Grill and Buffet** that we both cringed.
The Girl: I really want to see Granny. And Aunt S is ok. Would be great to see Uncle T, too. But DQ? BJ? Their spawn?
We made it through. She had a good time talking with Granny. And Granny loved her gifts… And the time with a functional grandchild. Who doesn’t ask her for money.
We also listened to BJs tales of training for “Mixed Martial Arts” cage fighting. Of their newest 4-wheeler toy. Their four-year old saying “I’m gonna fart on you and give you pink eye”.
The Girl managed to get
all the liquor her gifts packed up, and we drove eastward last night. Met up with The Boy at his place around 11:30 when he got home from work.
Seeing as i’d missed Easter for both of them, i was prepared. There is a history of coming up with ridiculously blasphemous easter basket inclusions. This year? i think i outdid myself.
The Boy found this in his kitchen when he came in from a long day at the factory.
i left shortly afterwards. Drove westward in the rain. Only cried for the first 20 miles. i’m getting better…
* From the “I can’t make this up” files. Three Olives Loopy Vodka. If you mix it with milk? Tastes like the leftover stuff in the bowl after you finish your Froot Loops. We were hammered before the brownies came out of the oven…
** Pronounced “boo-FAY”.