We arrived at my parents at two in the afternoon, dusty and already achy from moving the boxes out of Josie's house and into the cars.
Getting the boxes out of the storage area had been a scary experience. Corb was cleatly too tall to climb into the area, which meant it had to be me. Moving around in the cramped area brought back memories of my fall from grace...and two broken ribs...from six years back. However, to make me feel better, Corb made certain he removed the chair from underneath the space after I made it up.
Corb arrived in Plymouth about fifteen minutes earlier than I did. But of course, that's to be expected, since he's a zippier driver than I am.
He also looked out for me on the way, too. He called me, about ten minutes away from my folks. "Drive faster, and you'll get a treat on your right," he said, and hung up.
Turned out to be a cute guy with his shirt off, fresh from playing basketball. That Corb certainly does know what I like.
By the time that I arrived at my parents, it had all been arranged. In fact, my mom had been calling me the entire way, to check on our progress. Big Ted was getting antsy to leave, because they were going out with friends for the day, and Big Ted does not like being late.
Big Ted also likes having Big Mamma make all the calls, too.
"So, it's all taken care of," my dad said, after I had pulled in. "I told Corb where to put the boxes in the cellar, and exactly which lights to shut off when you're done. I also showed him exactly how to lock the cellar door. There are drinks upstairs, if you're thirsty."
"Your parents are funny," said Corb, after they had left. "They really like to have things done a certain way."
"It's my father, really," I said. "He's just always been like that."
After we were done moving the comic book boxes...five boxes down, only four more to go...we went upstairs for a drink. Corb headed for the bathroom.
As soon as he had locked the door, I started going through all the drawers in my mother's kitchen.
"What are you doing?" Corb asked, from the bathroom.
"You have the ears of a bat!" I called out.
"And you are so nosy!" he replied.
"Actually, I'm hungry," I replied, continuing to open up drawers. "And I know my mother..."
Near the sink, I found the drawer I was expecting. A cupboard, filled with chocolate cookies, crackers, graham crackers, granola bars, and, of course, cheese and crackers, a snack that's one of my mom's favorites and always reminds me of kindergarten, where I would bring it for snacktime, every day of the week.
"Found it!" I said, excitedly, and pleased with myself. "See, even after twenty years away, I still know how my mom's mind works..."
People are creatures of habit, aren't they? Particularly mothers. Somehow, I'd like to think that my kids will have the same understanding of my likes and dislikes, my peculiar habits, when I get to be my mom's age. Like, for example, that they'll never offer me anything from the bottom corner of their fridge...
What I'm reading: The Sunday Philosophy Club, by Alexander McCall Smith
What I'm writing: Chapter 12, Pictures of You
Inspiration for subject line: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pACR2RUO