Yes, yes, yes. That was a description of my love, the Artist. He's my music boyfriend, not to be confused with J. Depp, my real boyfriend. Or Clive (my manly boyfriend). Or, really, all my other boyfriends. I'm such a huzzy.
Well, it's official. As of Saturday, August 4th, exactly ONE MONTH after she left me, I was undeniably sad and longing for my baby gurl. Funny, I didn't know it was the month marker (sleeping through the day will affect you that way). But I was on the phone with WMG for our nightly call, and it just hit me like a ton of bricks. [For those that don't know the story, she basically made a deal with the devil (or at least her grandparents) to go to Hawaii for two months. Since I was in the throes of heartache from the death of my Jagger-girl, I stupidly agreed. Maybe in a few years we'll see it as a good decision, but I think we need the amelioratory passage of time.]
The first week or two, I was stressed out trying to get her to not be homesick, which was not easy to do telephonically. And her g-parents weren't much help, being of the we-don't-acknowledge-much-less-SHOW-emotion variety. Her acclimation came in fits and starts, and I think if the g-rents were more consistent in keeping their promises (to get her into classes and interacting with people her age) it would have gone more smoothly, but perhaps that's just as well. Since, being stressed over the late night admonishing calls from her grandfather ("I don't know what you said to make her so upset!"), and the early morning plaintive calls from WMG ("I miss you, Momma. I wanna come HOME!!!"), I was so busy being angry and frustrated that I didn't have time to be sad.
The following two weeks were chaotic for me, both here at FatCatLawFirm - big boss went to the South of France (you *have* to say it that way; you can't say "southern France" or "France down south") and that always means extra work for me, and personally (much delayed dental visits, including a tooth extraction. LOVELY. Oh, and the highly-coveted Solo Picking Up of Jagger's Remains), so I didn't have time to reflect on how much I missed her.
Saturday night, during our nightly phone call, she was playing a tune for me on an old flute from my childhood. Just being her silly, creative, wonderful self, and I just started bawling like a baby. I'm such an emotional wreck. It seems like I'm crying my eyes out for one reason or another almost every other week these days. Considering I didn't cry ONCE from the age of 8 (I remember the exact day) until I gave birth (at age 34), that is way too much for my liking.
But, at least I know I'm human and that I am immeasurably proud of my WMG. She has been such a trooper, and, other than homesickness WHICH IS APPROPRIATE FOR AN 8-YEAR OLD, DAD, she has handled herself with a maturity far beyond her years. I can't wait to see her, hug her, and zzzerbert her belly until she pees herself.
Speaking of maturity beyond chronological age, check out my Baby O - she's been taking lessons, and apparently, some of the moms were outraged to find out there was a 3 year old in the class (usual age range is 5 - 10 years). Problem is, they didn't know which one was the 3 y/o, except for the fact that she was better behaved and more practiced than their (older) kids. Hee-hee. I wonder how they'd feel if they found out she won't be three until November!!!!!
