Although I didn’t get this done in time to post on Friday, AGAIN, the Red Writing Hood assignment this week, from Write on Edge , was about jeans. We all have a relationship with jeans. They can make us feel a range of emotions, and this week we were asked to write a piece in which jeans figured prominently.
“I just have to finish my makeup, and then we can go,” I shouted down the hallway.
We were meeting family for dinner. My mother’s cousin’s daughter, K, is now a sophomore at the University of Michigan. I was honored my mother’s family would ask us to meet them last year when they brought their daughter for school. They are from New York and this is their baby. So, as a mom, I understand. It is good to know there is family near by in case our kids need a little help. They are one of the sweetest families I have ever met and I love how I get to see a glimpse of my mom’s childhood through the eyes of her cousin too.
Last year we stayed in contact with K, took her to lunch a couple of times, helped her with laundry and hosted her for Thanksgiving. She is funny and full of life. She is the epitome of a college student and you just can’t help but be excited about the future when you are around her for any length of time. I had envisioned that we would be best buds while she was here, because we are so close in age, but her schedule was very busy.
I turned my backside to the full-length mirror, did a quick squat to be sure nothing peeked out of my jeans, and then straightened my shirt one last time. My cranberry top was a gift from my mother-in-law. I loved the way it cut deep at the collar, showcasing my collar bones and the banded waist kept the fabric from being too clingy. It was a little chilly that evening, so pairing it with a dark pair of denim trousers offset the fact that it was sleeveless. As I slid into my black and white patent leather zebra print flip-flops I thought, “not bad for a 38-year-old mom”.
On our way to the restaurant I called K to let her know we were on our way.
“Hey there K, we…”
“Oh hi! Great, here’s my dad.”
We confirmed our plans. I hung up the phone and drove in silence for a few minutes.
“Honey – why is it that every time I try to talk to K she hands me off to her parents? EVERY TIME!”
DW stifled a laugh.
“How can I put this delicately…because you are now one of the parents.”
“Well, that doesn’t make any sense. Of course I’m a parent, what does that have to do with anything?”
“You’re old now.”
“What?! I’m not old! You’re crazy.”
They were waiting for us at the restaurant. K sat with a friend on one side of the table. Her parents sat on the other. My children scooted in next to their cousin, while DW and I sat near her parents. We hugged and kissed and asked about move-in. I couldn’t help but notice K and her friend’s jeans, faded and worn, they were snug and low. Suddenly, my jeans felt very tailored and dark.
During dinner we chatted about kids, work and school. We talked about family and health. DW inquired about the TV and microwave we lent K. Somewhere between acid reflux and cable hook-ups, I got a terrible sinking feeling in my stomach. While K and her friend had been checking out all the male waiters, and my children drew pictures, I had spent the last 30-minutes talking about indigestion.
I was on the grown-up side.
I was the one in the mom jeans.
DW was right.