The closer and closer I get to motherhood (which is still a good 5 months off)the more sentimental and emotional I seem to get. A lot of things used to make me cry, now the list of things that don't make me cry is smaller than the list that does. Kyle and I have been talking about possibly moving, and the thought of leaving my plants behind makes me want to cry, I know it's silly, but I really want to see my hydrangea grow up.
My chant for the last week and a half has been, "I just want my mom to cook me dinner and my dad to fix my car, like it used to be." Not that I don't love my life now, because I do, and honestly I don't want to go back to how things used to be, I just sometimes miss those simpler times.
My car is on the verge of breaking down. It needs a new fuel pump, a bunch of hoses and belts, all of it's fluids changed and new motor mounts. It's all going to be very expensive to fix. My dad suggested that I try to install the fuel pump on my own, I looked online and found the instructions. It actually looks pretty easy so I might just try it. It has a level 4 difficulty, with a 1 being adding air to the tires and a 10 being rebuilding the motor.
My mom makes the best Mexican food on the planet. With a maiden name like Phillippe, you really wouldn't think that was something that would come so naturally to the woman, but like many things, it does. I grew up eating a meal called "beans and flats" which was simply pinto beans on a fried corn tortilla with cheese, lettuce, onion, tomatoes and green chilies, and if we were lucky enough, sour cream. We called it the meal that never ended because there was always a little bit left over, so in order to use that up we would have to make more of something else - then the cycle repeated. Despite this, I have never grown tired of this meal and I believe that I will eat it until my dying day.
I am a pretty good cook. If there is a recipe I can follow it. Though Kyle and I eat a lot of Mexican food that I prepare, we have never had beans and flats, at least not where I made the beans. For some reason I have never made beans, I always use some from a can (which are nasty and re fried). I don't think it is that I thought I could never make them or figure them out, I think it's because I thought it was a meal that was suppose to be eaten with my family while the "bottom rule [was] in effect." It was a meal that reminded me of going home and I didn't want to replace that feeling.
When my mom was 8 1/2 months pregnant with me she and my dad went out to the farm. While there somebody made Mexican food and my dad was fixing the car. My mom went out to take my dad a taco and as she was handing it to him her water broke. Naturally, my dad would not take her to the hospital until the car was fixed.
Yesterday I made beans for the first time. I was able to completely recreate the meal of my youth. It was delicious, but it also made me want to cry, not because it made me feel like I didn't need my mom anymore or because I didn't have something to look forward to anymore when going home, but because I saw myself changing my own fuel pump, while simultaneously flipping a taco in a pan of grease and having my water break and I guess I realized at that moment that those are all things that can happen here in Arizona, and that I can do those things independently of my parents.
I was always a very independent child, I don't think I ever had a choice to be otherwise. I think I am also secretly (though Kyle would not say that it's no secret) very needy. I love and need my parents very much, but I would never want to act like that is the case. What happens when I run out of excuses to call home? I guess it's a good thing for more than one reason that replacing my fuel pump is only a 4 on the level of difficulty, it's going to take a lot of work to get to where I can rebuild my own engine.
Building with cob
15 hours ago