Comfort

Today was a rough day that capped off a rough week. The weather was rough. Work was beyond rough. And (at times) I was rough. And now it is Friday. And I had nothing to do.

Kevin had a guy's night planned and the week had drained most of the energy out of me making going out really unappealing. But at the same time, staying in with the house to myself left a little to be desired. I needed comfort. I needed people. So I went to my parent's house.

When I was little I used to lay my head in my mom's lap and she would smooth my hair and tell me stories or how much she loved me or how I was growing up too fast. This was the ultimate comfort. Thoughts of fights with friends and run-ins with bullies faded into the music of unconditional love. My mom just let me lay there. She let me be.

So I plugged in my iTrip, blasted the Moulin Rouge soundtrack (because Ewan McGregor singing is just the cherry on top of the comfort sundae) and coaxed my car through the snow to my parent's house. I climbed the stairs to my mom's sewing room and we talked and yelled out the answers to Wheel of Fortune as she sewed. My dad lured us downstairs with coffee and Bailey's (brought over by yours truly) and we watch Funny Face and poked fun at Fred Astaire and Audrey Hepburn. I didn't even care that I had just seen it a couple of weeks before, because old movies and my parents just go together - AMC and TCM are mainstays.

We capped off the night watching the Redwings (well, my dad and I watched, my mom tied off her quilt). My dad's pessimism juxtaposed against my optimism. I won out when Zetterberg scored in the last two minutes followed by Draper's empty netter (for which I jumped up and down). I let my parents conversations lull me by the fireplace.

And now I feel a bit more normal. Less cranky. Tended to. I have homemade bread in my belly and fresh memories drying in my brain. And even though I am too old to lay my head across my mom's lap, I know that I can always crawl home and let their easiness smooth over me.